Violinist

He could sit there and pretend
Clench his teeth and act like he can't hear the sugar sweet melody floating through the air
Swimming into his brain and clouding his thoughts like summer

He could but then the sugar would melt to honey
Creeping in to cram his mind with hollow sentiment and wasted blackmail
Almost as if it's his fault that the blasted woman didn't die
Like he could have stopped the train

He could pretend but he won't
He'll stay and empty reality until it's excessive and then he'll give up
Only the cursed taxi can't meet the expectation of adrenaline that would stay if he dashed across cobblestone waves

But he'll remember the skull as he drifts to sleep and realizes
That nothing can replace the intimate channel of Mozart in the darkness