Musical Torment - the Infamous Masterpieces

Torturing me with touches I feel the sting of hardened and lasting lust Touches not of mortal fingers, But Halloween-haloed strings composed by musicians of mystery Pressing upon my back--yes! A searing, yet melodi-errotic strike All upon me, yet far from me... Leave me not in the judgement of my own scrambling feelings Rest not away as I hold my hands out in the dark Deathly dances are visions heaven-bound for the duo-- Yet for the solo- a blank, useless measure... The pulsing silence of amateur-stitched love rattles me Making rhythms giggle in my mind Intervals of idiocy tormenting all reason Truly an agonizing, but for others--minor--prison Is the smile that helped design those strings Those strings that pluck upon my spine Controlling me in a dark place stuck between tunes and time Why are your hands so cold when you play those piano keys? Why are your lungs so eroded with the pride that taints the songs you sing? Why have the rhythms gone awry, and why does your apathetic dissonance thrive? And tell me… through it all… As you compose the rise and fall… Why is all this destruction you created so vibrantly alive?