Lita's ice blue eyes peer into my soul
as my fingers strum along an acoustic guitar.
Cautiously, I match its rhythm with the beat of
her heart -- swiftly then slowly, until the harmonious
chords filling the atmosphere still the rapid
vibrations of my own heart and the silk strings
beneath my fingers slip into her enigmatic allure.

"Wounds heal over time," I say to no avail.

Each empty note immerses into her pool
of toxic thoughts. My eyes become lost
in the nihility of her eyes as her lips form
an unconvincing smile that quickly fades.
To soothe her internal pain, I strum away.
My guitar and Lita are the same --
hollow.