Dusty keys

A childhood dream
becomes a memory,
and what am I left with?
These dusty keys
and an empty bench
to tell me I never was
the figment of my dreams.
And as I drag my fingers
across the endless white sea,
I hear majors and minors
and I stop at a B.
If I smash these dusty keys,
will there ever be
someone there to stop me
from killing
what makes me
me?

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