There were two piano pieces of Rachmaninoff's: Love's Joy and Love's Sorrow. Now she, the musician who lets the instrument cry for her, always chooses to play the latter piece. And he, the musician who seeks to pursue happiness with his instrument, asks her, "Why do you stick to sorrow?"
.
.
.
"So I can get used to it."

this is not a poem
          
          

                       *just a mere

image
consisting of

                                         straight lines
and curves

"Sometimes to stay alive you gotta **** your mind."
         -twenty one pilots

Maybe it was better this way,
Better to learn this today,

Rather then trying to **** up a hard truth,
In years older then my youth,

you took my life,
and made me sharpen my knife,

and I handed you it,
you stabbed me with it,
and wouldn't even toss me the first aid kit,

Satin white stained red,
from blood shed,

and I sat there and wilted away,
and you still took my body and played,

And maybe I owe you a thank you,
Because now I have a few clues,

I know what you did was ****,
But at lest you let me escape,

who else would of let me out of there *******?
even if it was without your doing...

so let me just make this loud and clear
Because I might even toast with my beer,

Yes you may have helped me learn something,
but I learned that you matter no more than a piece of string,

but you were that worthless ******* piece of string,
that was holding my world together at the seams,