A rusty guitar
clutched
in white
bony
fingers.
Skeletal face
watching you.
Head tilted, listening
even
in
death.
Torn pages of ancient music
scattered on the ground.
As you meet his hollow eyes, they seem to
stare
into
your soul.
You reach out
and try to take the guitar.
But his fingers are too tight.
Coveting the guitar.
Refusing
to
let
go.
Refusing
to
say
goodbye.