Violin

She cries on the hard, cold floor
about a love lost, but I refuse
I refuse to be her shoulder or crutch

I don't allow myself to become
just another soft handkerchief
that dries her eyes, and cleans the tears

I will not be the violinist that plays
the violin, and provides the music that
accompanies her cries, that make up for his lies

No not this time, I won't allow the strings
Nor the melody to mend her broken feelings
I no longer want to be the picker upper of his messes

I can't continue to rewrite his songs with new chords
I can't continue to play her misery away,
So I walk out of the room, leaving the violin, on the hard, cold floor

I sat it right next to her puddle of tears
She has to draw the bow of her own troubles now,
It's time for her to create her own masterpiece, unfortunately without me



(C) 2009 Kendall-Paul

Violin