She who so beautifully plays
Violin every now and then
Moves the sharp bow with awful grace
Forth and back, unknown when it ends
She whose severe pain serve as notes
Her memories, the music sheets
With one mistake, her self she loathes
And so deeper music she meets
The long frets were always hidden
Underneath fabric and soft cloth
And every second one to ten
Deeper the frets and bow goes both
The crimson coloured whole notes fall
Onto the stage she claimed she gained
Into her own demise she crawls
And for so long she smiled again
Surely she won't be able to
play violin again, she's through.
6.10.18
Don't cut yourselves, humans. I loveu
-Quen
YOU ARE READING
Shallow Depths
PoetryThe voices that have seemed so small and words we've always left alone are ones of which when we merge all will paint the scenes to eyes unknown. - ♪ - My first poetry collection in Wattpad. No specific themes and topics, all random. [Please read...
