Syncopating and staggering every limb of my body,
keeping the tempo under control.
Footsteps transform into low frequency thuds
while arm gestures send the rhythm on tangents.
Chaos and order clash, yet resonate beautifully.

No structure, no form. I was forged from an internal fire.
Pure passion is what produced this self-taught craft.
The only guidance necessary stems from
those who influence me most.

As I ride my cymbals, a rush
overcomes my body when I
nail a fill or hit my crash just right.

Finishing the song, I take off my headphones.
The brass continues to quiver for it’s last time,

and I come back to my hollow, silent basement.