In this life,

I can forget.

I can hear the unfiltered, warm voices of humanity through the phone,

Feel the vibrations of their existence through my palm

And keep those voices next to me, late into the dark hours of the morning.

I can feel the heat of so many precious arms that wrap around me,

That gently carry me with them,

And I have no fear of being pulled from their grip and thrown into the cold.

I can taste the flavors of the foods I once ravenously hungered for,

And they linger on my tongue for so much longer now, giving me strength

Long past the next meal.

In this new world, I can be undone

In the way I intend.

Intentionally.

And yet now I sit here on the floor

Of that life

While I unpack my bags

After having been in the sky for two hours,

With enough clothes for a week

Strewn across the carpet

I once bled on.

And yes.

It feels like home.

But home is where I was undone

Over and over again,

Painfully, chaotically.

In other words,

Not intentionally.

And still I put myself

Back into the hands of these strangers

On holidays,

Undoing myself intentionally

But not in the way I intend,

Because I have nowhere to go

If I don't.

[Verse 1]

Come,

Let me lead you astray

Just a few feet away from

The world that you thought you knew

Out

From under the gray,

Let me be a warm ray of light

In the storm that's surrounding you

[Prechorus]

Your silence is louder than you think,

You don't have to speak

Because I can still hear you

Words never did much for me

Would it be had to breathe

If I asked to be near you?

[Chorus]

I converse through the mouth of existence,

A language of footsteps I match to your pace

Quiet is better than distance

To hear the things no one knows how to convey

Can I have proximity?

[Verse 2]

Home

Was hell on my tongue,

You heard it through whispers

Of wind as I came undone

That was month one

When my voice wouldn't come,

Yet you'd sit with the quiet

As I pulled the air through my lungs

[Prechorus]

Your silence is louder than you think,

You don't have to speak

Because I can still hear you

Words never did much for me

Would it be had to breathe

If I asked to be near you?

[Chorus]

I converse through the mouth of existence,

A language of footsteps I match to your pace

Quiet is better than distance

To hear the things no one knows how to convey

Can I have proximity?

[Bridge]

I hate wasting time,

So let me bide my time

With you

I guess it's probably time

I say

That you're one thing I can't stand

To lose

Give me proximity

Can I have proximity?

[Chorus 2x]

I converse through the mouth of existence,

A language of footsteps I match to your pace

Quiet is better than distance

To hear the things no one knows how to convey

Give me proximity

Can I have proximity?

I converse through the mouth of existence,

A language of footsteps I match to your pace

Quiet is better than distance

To hear the things no one knows how to convey

Give me proximity

Can I have proximity?

This is a piece called "The Seer," written by Erik Santos and performed by the University of Michigan Symphony Band and tenor vocalist Scott Piper. It is based off of poetry by Langston Hughes, as well as several other creative works.

Watch it. Just watch it. You'll get why I posted it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKD84C0ezek <------ click it. do it. bet you won't

(Please note that I had no part in the creation or performance of any part of this piece, nor do I claim to. I just think it's really, really cool. But... I would totally play it in an ensemble if I ever got the chance, so if anyone could be an absolute legend and hit me up with the score, I would be eternally grateful)

It’s hard for me to tell

What color the plants should be right now.

All the grass keeps dying and waking up again,

Like the predictably invincible characters

In an anime that should've ended

Three seasons earlier.

It’s March,

And the trees, eternally half-blooming

With tiny bright caterpillars of warm green,

Are still caught in the prolonged stranglehold

Of the mistletoe that thrives in cold winds

And frosted bark.

In my eyes, It’s almost as if

The parasitic chandeliers could be hesitant;

Lingering around, uncertain,

Loitering and pacing

With invisible little plant legs,

Tortured by the annoyingly realistic possibility

That there might be

Just one more cold morning,

Just enough time

To squeeze one more drop of life

From the thin fingertips of another

Before it wanders off again

In the heat of the evening.

[Verse 1]

Kicking the TV

And wondering why the static's

Slowly crushing me

My channel-surfing white noise

Sleepless thought machine

It's getting colder

I'm freezing over

Eighteen below

[Chorus]

Salt-and-pepper alibis

Every future petrified

Footprints getting lost in snow

SCP-2949

Cross the tundra, blur the lines

Show me something I don't know

Hypothermic freeze

I can almost see my breath

Caught in the monochrome

Salt-and-pepper alibis

Every future petrified

Footprints getting lost in snow

[Verse 2]

Carve me from the ice

Chip away at every broken part of mine

Preserved under the time zones

Melt my peace of mind

It's getting colder

I'm freezing over

Eighteen below

[Chorus]

Salt-and-pepper alibis

Every future petrified

Footprints getting lost in snow

SCP-2949

Cross the tundra, blur the lines

Show me something I don't know

Hypothermic freeze

I can almost see my breath

Caught in the monochrome

Salt-and-pepper alibis

Every future petrified

Footprints getting lost in snow

[Bridge (2x)]

Black against a white scene

I can see the gangrene

Slowly creeping up my arms

I'm losing feeling

Can someone hear me, give me something

Tell me it's not all for nothing

[Verse 3]

It's getting hard to breathe

I'm getting nowhere finding patterns in the screen

The walls are closing in

My muscles start to seize

It's getting colder

I'm freezing over

Eighteen below

There exists within them

A quiet understanding of my world.

They see the concepts

That words don't exist for;

The ones that structure my existence.

They knew from the beginning

That it would take them

A very long time

To learn me.

And yet they still sit here

Connecting me;

Patiently reforming my complexities,

Weaving synapses

Between the things I already know.

Knitting me without a pattern

Because they know I don't have one,

Nor do I have the desire to predict

How they will change me.

They are tethered to me

Not with conversations and interlacing fingers

But despite them,

And instead leaning upon

The intricate language

Of mutual sentience.

[Intro/Chorus]

We are a god of war

Walking down below

On severed heads

And bloodstained stone

Our world doesn't like us

Oh, we already know

But it's Ares' burden

To strengthen weak souls

[Verse 1]

No, we aren't done yet

We've conquered the earth, but not ourselves yet

We have necessary chaos seeds to plant

Grudges, money, and filthy hands

And we repay ourselves in blood debt

'Cause we're the deity we worship

On the market is our flesh and bone

For half the price, give it half a home

[Prechorus]

We don't live in a society

If we kneel to gore

Shackled by our own adoration

But not the things that we adore

[Chorus]

We are a god of war

Walking down below

On severed heads

And bloodstained stone

Our world doesn't like us

Oh, we already know

But it's Ares' burden

To strengthen weak souls

[Verse 2]

Another dogmatism outbreak

Another martyr's been erased

We barter in our own morality

Is perspective worth our humanity

[Bridge]

They build statues for us

We just leave them to rust

What are we here to protect, to be a god for?

'Cause we're walking on ash and dust

Oh, are we still pretending

Like there's

Anything left on this

Planet that people won't just

Die for (impact)

Note: After the bridge, repeat the chorus but overlay the prechorus with it. Then accelerando & crescendo until tension peaks; after that, everything just abruptly stops, without resolving any chords.

As my world burned, I sat down on a soft patch of grass amidst its chaos. The citric scent of my steeping Earl Grey pierced through pungent fumes of ashen smoke that clung to everything it touched. The two odors blended together, invading my senses with a turbulent redolence as I turned to the next page of the book that was resting on my lap.

Stop.

Look around.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Open your eyes.

No, actually open your eyes.

…Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken.

What you’re seeing right now

Is the back of your eyelids.

The burning intensity,

Overwhelmingly painful darkness

And infinite nothingness

Of the back of your eyelids.

…Oh, really? Are you sure?

Because if your eyes were already open,

I would think that by now

You would’ve noticed

The soft clover underneath you

Splashed with violets;

The arm around your shoulder

Warming your shaking body as you cry.

You would have seen the sun

Rising through your window this morning

As you struggled to revive your tired mind,

And you’d have watched fiery light bounce off the sleek fur

Of your loyal fluff-armored protector guarding your pillow,

Ever-dozing, but always with one eye open.

You would have caught a glimpse

Of the prisms of color

That danced between the sparkling droplets

Last night when it rained.

You’d have been entranced

By the rippling reflections they left on the concrete

That mirrored the sky, swirling with the stars of van Gogh.

Open your eyes, little one.

Witness the beauty of the little moments

That dot every second of your existence.

So. Whenever you’re ready…

I am from (wands of unimaginable power) unsharpened pencils,

from Beanie Boos and Island of the Blue Dolphins.

I am from the broken alarm clock and beige walls cool to the touch

in a room that wasn’t mine,

doors that locked from the outside,

and a silence I filled with hour-long ballads about anything and everything.

I am from the trees I would lie under as after-school traffic died down,

letting the branches protect me as I grew familiar with love and fear

from my usual spot in their dancing shade, settled next to friends on the sidewalk.

I’m from “Band! Ten-hut!” group dismissals

and the exhausted, victorious atmosphere

after every run of the show at every marching contest.

From Tobias Soriano and Alexis Palacio.

I’m from the blunt, nerdy humor of Parker Boyd

and the hours of deep conversation and beautiful,

well-spoken honesty of Lauren Cram.

From “you can’t be trusted” and “you’re the most real person I’ve ever met.”

I’m from delivering Lemonades and finding a community;

from Panama City Beach, where God showed me

that there’s always enough hope to keep existing.

I’m from Level of Concern by twenty øne piløts,

expired Earl Grey,

leaning against trees whose roots grew over the empty sidewalk and writing a song about it.

From the rocky creek I jumped into with Parker,

where I simultaneously got my first kiss

and a cool scar on the bottom of my right foot.

The stickers on someone’s guitar whose sound I thrive on after school,

the voices and laughter of people I’ve just met but couldn’t bear to lose.

Scattered throughout my room, tucked away in desk drawers and on bookshelves,

are folded letters and useless objects

I somehow manage to keep finding places for.

I am from the pink scars and salty tears

of everything I have ever experienced,

unhindered and separate from the realm of blood and descent.