when the last note falls

when the music dies
at my fingertips
when these hands forget
their dance across ivory keys
when these pages
close their eyes to my confessions
and words turn to glass
caught in my throat
sharp as swallowed memories
of blackout nights
then take these hands
that know exactly which chords
unlock the darkness
take these ink stained fingers
wrapped round crumpled pages
of half finished verses
carved from bones of sleepless nights
etch them into cold stone
let them stand as proof
to all of the times I died
between midnight and dawn
to all of the times I was resurrected
by the need to create somethin
that hurts less than bein lost to silence
to the symphony of shadows
that plays behind my eyes
to the hollow echo of a minor key
in empty rooms at 3am
when even demons have found their rest...