Her heart is a broken orchestra
beating fast and slow
everyone at his own tempo
Her neck is the same as the composers
imprinted by the rope
hanging above her hopes
Her wrists are a broken violin
the bow keeps on cutting
as the horror keeps running
Her thoughts are the sharp brass
stabbing her soul
bringing everything down into her dark hole
Her screams are a chipped reed
no matter how hard she tries
no one can hear her cries
Her eyes are the cutrian closing
the show is finally over
and the sweet sound of silence takes over
YOU ARE READING
Random things I write
PoetryThese are just some poems I write when stuff happens. Please no hate.
