You play my emotions
With nimble fingers,
The hands of an expert,
Unapologetic.
The music of my suffering,
Dazzling.
"Love?" you laugh,
I'm not supposed to.
You're not supposed to,
Use my emptiness,
As part of your show.
But,"It makes a pretty sound,
you know?"
Yes, I do.
You streched a skin,
Across my eyes,
And made a drum.
My hollows ring.
You make them ring.
A lovely sound,
A painful sound,
That's just an echo,
In my empty head.
"Like I care."
You said.
To you, my heart,
Is dead.