The flower that never blooms,
I am sterile.
Devoided of feelings,
Unprepaired for life...
I would compare myself to a sleepwalking piano,
the kind that wants to be played, but runs from the artists,
Not allowing anyone to play me!
The joy and sorrow that are part of my keys,
lights up everyone but me.
In my search for becoming more Human,
I dared my strings to make contact with the keys,
In hope to find the Perfect sound.
But like the mute button on your remote control,