It’s          true: I almost never smile, but that doesn’t
mean          I’m not in love:
my          heart is that black
violin
played          slowly. You know that moment
late          in the solo when
the          voice is so
pure          you feel the
blood          in it: the wound between
rage          and complete surrender.
That’s          where I’m smiling. You
just          can’t see it—the sound
bleeding          perfectly inside me. The first
time

I          killed a vampire I was sad: I
mean
we
were          almost
family.
But          that’s
so          many lives ago.
I          believe in the
cry          that cuts into
the          melody, the strings calling back the
forgotten          world. When I think of the
madness
that          has made me and the midnight
I          walk inside—all day long: when I
think          of that one note that
breaks
what’s          left of what’s human
in          me, man, I
love          everything