turning the tunes of the broken, beaten music box
she cared not for the russet colours
her stained finger found.
the ballerina beneath the dust
danced delightfully in front of her
hiding, leaving, nothing turned.
wearly winding the knob behind
she coxed a smile, smirking sinfully
thinking of the times they used to have.
the music played, painfully piercing her protruding heart,
her pain and sorrows, definitely doubling,
peeling her bandages off her wounds.
when the song began to bring the end,
her eyes of brown and blissful shine
belonged to none, but her tears.
he’d hold her hand with careful calculation,
smiling softly down at her,
and she would float, feeling fine and sure.
years of deceitful decisions and daring days,
they not only left a broken bond,
but a bleeding, beating heart.
© &velajune | 2011