Performance

Whispering truths through his mouthpiece, spiraling out of his saxophone

As his face contorts to the beat and the rhymes, lyrics that he has sewn

Telling of his mistakes and happiness, a past he wants to disown

But knows the wealth that comes from exploring where, the man he is, was grown

Like gunshots, each drumbeat hits his ears like every fist that he had thrown

His skin being sliced back with every sharp noise revealing only bone

Protruding from the gut. hitching lungs to the fingers that sway his tone

Flesh, tangled in his sax, gives him as a high a rush as methadone

The only thought peering from his head is that tonight he isn't alone