Play me
Like a broken guitar
Scraping wood and splintered fingers

Hear me cry, out of tune
As I skip the second fret
I hope the screech burns your ears

A beautiful thing, really
When you do as your told
This string and that,
Fire on the body,
Catching at my fingertips

I will not cry
Or allow my voice to shake
The sound will be crisp, and clear
Unlike any other
Despite all of that pain

However, when you bore of me,
Tuck me away and let me collect dust
Let the fire spread and hear the twang
As the wood rots

A broken guitar left to wither away