Emotions and Release

The guitarist on the stage of the smoky bar sings about his problems, playing sad chords in minor keys. Sometimes I wonder whether his life is as bad as he says or if he makes up problems to capture the sympathy of the listener. My life is as bad as those in his songs, but I could never write a song such as his. Even the sadness in his voice can not cover up the joy he feels in the creation of his art. He has a release from the pain of life in his music, his songs carrying everything away, his lyrics crucified in the air to save his soul. I have no such outlet. Even my writings do nothing to ease my suffering, they are no salve for my misery. They do nothing but categorize my feelings, five me record of how low I fall into my emotional pitfalls. I am jealous of musicians and the ease at which they play with their emotions.