this is for you

"everyday martyrs (iii.)," except now it's a slam poem and I took out the stupid parts.

this is for the tiniest strings in the piano
and the intake of breath between them;
for the drops of the ocean we soak in
and our frantically closed eyes, as we desperately – seek -- ascension.
this is for the cries that were never quite loud enough; for our heavy breathing
as the chills run up our spine in perfect time-
rhythm, rhyme, meter in every exponential blink as everything becomes---
more.
This is your story, etched
in my fingers, betrayed by every tremble
and This, this is for you, who I hear
in your haunting echoes, the sound of you and everything we ever did to you
and everything you ever gave to us, in a night as cold as this
when the world could not scream loud enough
and the visions streaked in blinding flashes
to lay you out like a black and white comic book hero-
worlds burning
and pages turning in strobelight to
build, swell, crescendo and fall,
fall,
fall.
This is the story that no-one knows
and this is for you, my lost and silent friend-
for you and all the other souls
who knew, who know, who might have known-
you--
your damned, tragic, terrible beauty; your
every inch of bittersweet passionate, powerful, insane
and absolutely vivacious life-
you—
the notes you managed behind closed doors and longed to whisper into someone’s ear-
you—
the keys you danced on and locked away before the moon could burn your skin brighter than you could ever hide-
you—
the hopeless, tacit agreement you made with the asphalt four floors below
where you would both stay --- silent
and let the world find you there the next morning,
you---
broken
this is for you,
broken

this is for all that and all the things I do not comprehend,
like the nothingness we all fall into, someday:
this, your moment
when all the strings on the piano are struck at once
and fall into the sea.