The pierce on his left earlobe wasn't something that anyone would just notice. After all it was purposely concealed by his brown locks. She asked him why he had it.

"It was a thing of the past." he said.

"Does it still hurts?"

"The bleeding had stopped. The wound was long gone. It took some time to heal. Still, there was a gaping hole that's left."

Somehow she knew that it wasn't just the piercing he was talking about.

my pianos a deaf mute
doesn't care when I smash the keys
I tell it anyways, listen here, you miracle, you conversation piece, I'm going to play you without plugging you in because 1) who makes electronic pianos and 2) I can hear the sounds in my head, just like old times old times old times
I map out a Beatles song I hate because I really just want you to hold my hand
I never take my foot off the soft pedal because it should always be gentle and I should always be gentle to you and God knows you're the only one listening so listen here and listen close
i know im not really alone because we are attached by the red string of fate or friendship or car crash and I know this because you're the only one I can say these things to without getting myself committed
if you want me I'll be in the bar buying you drinks you'll never be thirsty enough to let touch your tongue and what is all of this shaking for
who first felt this feeling and said **** I'm in love or **** I Might be dying because my chest kind of feels like the monkey bars after rain we all fall off of because we're too ******* stubborn to wait a while
what is it about instant gratification that has everyone around me filling up their gas tanks because "it's not gonna get this low again for a long time" and how I wish I could say the same for myself or
how I wish I could say the same for you
I don't know if this poem is a piano or if this poem is you or if this poem is drunk and wanting to call someone who will pick up or listen or want to
But
I once said to someone "I think I really need to talk about this" and I shouldn't have been surprised when I was handed a hotline but maybe you have always been answering the phone "tell me where it hurts, and then tell me again"

I was never anything but flammable material
I kept you warm but I burned myself out
Every week I tell my therapist about you
How things have changed
How I have a new man every night
How I rarely learn their names and they never call me back
How I'm nothing but empty anymore
And you judge me for healing wrong
As if what I'm doing is any worse than five weeks of self pity
As if your feelings will always continue to trump mine
As if you still have some say in what I do
As if you're still holding the matches
But I'm learning to speak for myself
I've learned how to moan three different names in less than two days
And how to make none of them sound even remotely like yours
I'm moving on and it kills you, I know
But you only liked the dancing fire and the warmth
You never could stand the smell of smoke.

Shame on you for not loving me back
Shame on you for not staying
Shame on you for not making me stay
Shame on you for...
Shame on you
Shame on you
Shame on
*Shame on me, for hoping, believing and loving, and living.