Your body aches
because it has not moved
for eons;

and your thighs,
which have been
pressed against the leather
until you had sweat rivers,
are sore from disuse;

your mind a tumbleweed
of natural ability
and frustration
at what you can’t do;

your fingers unfatigued
but oh so exhausted
of notes you already
filled
and drained
of your soul.

You are chained, now.
You have sins down your neck
up your mask
winding around you
and you are trapped.

You will not leave.
You will stay and suffer.

But even so,
you beg;
one hand out,
teeth and lips with syllables,
Did I Do Well—

goodnight.

they say instead,
and they close the hatch
over your blissful eyes
again.