I wasn’t your first, nor will I be your last.
I understand why you got rid of me.
The shame, the feelings. I guess
I’m not something  you would keep for later,

What you would take home to Mom.
I was only made for one time use.
I was only good for the moment,
And then you flush me away with your essence left behind.

I waited so long for you to finally use me.
Stuck inside a stiff foil wrapper, neatly rolled in on myself.
I just wish it had lasted longer,
wish you had thought about it more.

Wish you knew how much it hurt me to be stretched so thin.
My delicate skin barely handled your abuse
when you shoved me away so abruptly.
I’m fragile, sensitive, but I was made for you.

And I could have been everything you need-
I’d keep you safe, make you warm, protect you
from the things you can’t see.
But you came, and you left.

You used me for all you could, and now you’re satisfied,
I’m gone, and you will never think twice about me.

Every day, he takes her into his arms,
To soothe her inherent frets.

Her warped body sits atop his lap
While words form in his mouth,

Soft whispers of melody.
His left hand explores her neck

To find just the right spot, his other hand
Strokes slowly, tenderly

Against the tension.
The first movement is always the same-

A refrain of familiarity,
Prelude to a hymn not yet written.

His strokes open gently,
Building her rhythmic moans to a forte.

He’ll work her all night,
Hammer-on, pull-off.

Her pitch intensifying
Beyond measurable scales.

The tempo nears a ******,
They reach harmony in unison,

Before he mutes her with his palm,
Repressing a broken chord.

Never ceasing to comply,
Her hollow frame supports him.

She consents to being strung along,
As little by little, he writes a song.