Saturday, February 25, 2017

Flat tune.

Talk about beautiful,
When she's broken in silence,
Wandering around in empty spaces,
Where the voices echoed,
Pulling her, in and out.

Talk about beautiful,
When she flies so high,
But,
Only with broken wings,
And a heart full of agony.

Talk about beautiful,
When the strings are all broken,
Except one,
Playing flat tune.
On repeat,
Again and again.

Talk about beautiful,
When the one that she has left,
Is the one that she preserves,
For a tiny hope,
Or a tiny light,
That might shine through,
Knocking her door,
Maybe one day,

But,

The more she flies,
The more she forgets,
The more she runs,

Even though,

Things get better,
Eventually by days,
By seconds,

And,

She thought she cured herself,
And she forgets about,
The broken wings,
The broken heart,
The last string and everything.

But sudden,

One fine morning,
She woke up,
Choked, to the fact that,
Given the pain that she's holding back,
The one she has trusted, has never really wished to understand,

She mourned back in her empty space,
Wandering around with the last string attached,
Heartlessly telling herself,
To preserve that one last tune,
Even though she knows, it'll never play more than just a flat tune.

In a treasured relationship,
Bonded by blood,
She never thought that it would make her that broken.

Sincerely,
M.
09:21 (26/2/17)