Valerie Owens
Your fingers pluck at the strings of my heart
Like the musician and his mandolin
Perhaps my heart is out of tune,
For the song you play
Sounds no longer sweetly of blissful adoration
But rather, strange, and off-key,
Like the cacophony of deceit.
The mandolin is played with violent passion
And the cords are pulled ever tighter.
Please untangle your cold hands
from the weakening threads
of my now bleeding heart
I am weary of the music.
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