Dry Bones

Lately, words like slot machines have been flashing across my brain. And just like orange, orange, and banana don't win big; my thoughts aren't winning me many (if any) points in clarity. Focus.... what a joke. Disconnect, my friend for now, or the infection growing like cancer in my lungs. I'm feeling emptier all the time. Or maybe it's just confusion manifesting itself as a sharp hollow in my gut. 

One thing I've realized more of lately is the power of music. Music, at least for me, is more potent than penicillin for pain; more filling than food for thought; more rushing than a a sugar high; and more soothing than sleep for escape. I've been extremely vulnerable to influence via cadence my entire life, and especially the last few weeks. When I'm lonely, the minor chords resonate in my chest like they've known me since grade school. Similar to wrapping myself up in the arms of a friend, I feel surrounded with courage when an uplifting song graces my ears. On the other hand, I can slip into somber thoughts when I hear songs I've associated with the skeletons in my closet. Some songs, I'm sure you have them too, are loaded: double-barreled catchy and cruel at once. Songs like these I need to remove from my playlist, at least for now. Otherwise, I'm at the mercy of the DJ. Like the waves, he doesn't give a hoot of my requests, but plays and splashes as he wills. This leaves me short of breath and sputtering salt water in surprise. 

I don't really know what I'm saying here, except that I'm listening to an album in the background right now... and maybe I should learn to surf...

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