Bleeding on the Guitar

He’s seated on their corner again,

Looking more battered than before;

Staring at nothing in particular,

Sighing, shaking his head.

Surprisingly he still cradles his guitar,

Though the music had completely changed;

Somewhat dark, too far from sweet,

As if completely drowning in memories.

Ah yes, those memories,

Some of joy, most of pain.

Biting and devouring sorrow,

Driving him to forget tomorrow.

Why did she go that way,

Right before his very eyes?

How could she go that way,

Leaving just memories on a guitar?

He’s seated on their corner again,

Reliving everything with every strum;

Letting his feelings show for a moment,

Letting himself bleed on the guitar.

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