The pianos in my head lead in the voices. The words are coherent; the phrases oft are not. I can’t sleep so I count sheep only to find that the sheep can’t make the singing stop. As I write this poem It fits to the melody that has made its home inside my mem’ry. I’m being dramatic and I fucking love it. I rented out my mind for another shot at playing in a theatre’s show. Another musical audition means another week of compulsive mental rehearsal… I’m writing this from bed in hopes that I can get some of this out of my head. The left part of my brain is knocking on the corpus collosum telling the right brain to pipe down cause left brain needs to go to work in the morning. Who could have known my right brain would be that kind of neighbor. I’d totally join in if left brain weren’t right.
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