She sits there,
Waiting, on the bench
For him to apologize,
As her tears stain the keys.

The keys tell her story;
The keys tell her life.
All of the heartbreak that she's felt,
And the crap she's gone through;
It doesn't matter
Once the piano is in her line of sight.

She waits, a day or two,
And sits, and writes,
And moans and cries,
But her wish is never granted.

He will never apologize
For what he's done.
It's a game, to him,
It's all for fun.

She doesn't know if she can cry much longer,
But she's running out of material.
Her songs are the same,
Over and over and over again.

He's gone,
And she's there.
The Musician writes
To get rid of the pain,
And to get out of the game.

When I see her,
The floodgates open,
And my heart closes.
I still haven’t spoken.

When you kiss her,
You smile.
I can’t help but cry;
I taste strong bile.

You hug her tight,
Her forehead against your lips.
She loves you, I can see that,
But my eyes remain fixed.

I know I should stop writing about you,
But I can’t make up my mind.
You’re taken, I realize that
But you’re perfect, your features defined.

I should look away
When you sit next to us,
But I can’t help myself.
I’ll tell you at dusk.

My words could ruin this,
And make things strange,
But I’ll give it a try,
Even if it makes me deranged.

It’ll hurt, when you say no,
And I’ll cry anyway.
And maybe, if seeing you every day is too unbearable,
I’ll fly away.

I’m not sure how you
Make me feel this way,
But it’s bad, and
I know I should hide away.

Are these tears really worth my pain?
Will I really win this game?