sweet music.
I told you millions of times,
My heart is not a radio.
It's delicate.
It doesn't have wires,
It has veins.
No batteries,
But blood.
It doesn't have much energy to beat,
To the music you keep playing over and over.
It's crushed and broken,
And everytime,
you end up taking one out of those hundreds of broken pieces.
Within the short period,
You succeeded in stealing each and every piece.
Instead of a heart,
What's left there is a hole.
A deep dark hole.
Instead of the sweet melody,
What's heard are statics.
You pressed the wrong button.
You damaged me once again,
But to the extent where I couldn't sing anymore.
Darling, I love your sweet music,
But I can't gift you my heart again,
For it may never get repaired.
//broken//
a.d.
05.10.2018
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