She spins beauty from her sorrow,
Works her fingers to the bone,
Pressing down on ebony
And ivory, just so.
Sonatas for the midnight sun
So brooding, restless, dark.
Pouring out her very soul,
Oozing from her scars.
Perhaps a rondo for Elise?
Accidentals slice her wrists.
Mordents help the pain release
And trills the cuts do kiss.
Liszt pulls her to the edge
Stretching palms to farthest span,
Distracted from her messed-up world
By her screaming, dancing hands.
She sits like this from dawn to dusk
And dusk to dawn once more
Until the pain caused by the keys
Has numbed her heart once more.
Want to join the conversation? Sign in to leave a comment.