Wednesday, 26 June 2013

The Tune..

On a chilly winter morning,
Bloody PianoAs the dew on the grass shone,
Like tiny little scattered diamonds,
Across the maintained grassy lawn.
The tune was flowing out of the window,
Softly purging the air,
But to the attentive listener,
It reeked of despair.

Some strings were pulled slow,
And some, with anger.
Like someone was sobbing,
Midst tears, getting stronger.
And there was a Thud!
Fiercely the tune stopped,
It was like something had fallen,
Or someone knocked over.

It had become eerily quiet,
Like the shadows have taken their toll.
Unable to restrain my curiosity,
I decided to peek after all. 
The keys were bloody,
And a pool had formed after the fall.
Lying on the floor,
Was a wrist slit doll.

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