Writing Melodies on Broken Keys

She’s afraid he’ll run out of ways to tell her she’s beautiful
She has heard them rearranged into so many different words that she has become hyper-conscious of redundancy
He whispers that he loves her
But like he’s said it a million times
She unbuttons her blouse and wonders where did all the flower fields go?
This nostalgia-
This melancholy-
Write love songs on her arms
They are dripping with childhood promises

She shortens her skirt
Fearful of the disco ball floors that shatter when she walks
Her high heels are cracking those clouds of make believe
It’s so easy to objectify those legs she wrapped up with fishnets
Easy to forget Prince Charming
He’s answering a question she never asked
She’s caught up praying for the aftermath
He’s another lovesick stranger cutting down her protection
Trying to fill this emptiness inside himself
Changing that cracked mirror into a kaleidoscope

Is it over yet?
She just wants to know
She’s on the operating table but the doctors forgot to suture her heart
Her chest is blossoming with a wine stain red
It’s coursing over her skin
With his hands on her breasts she thinks he might stem the flow
But his fingers scream desire becoming blades upon her
Digging their way deeper until finally the red spreads to her eyes
Trickling into her hair
And he sighs

Into her ear

Clanging his belt
Or is he only hitting the door?
He shuts it without saying any array of cold distant words
No more “You’re beautiful”
It makes no sense to reconcile with a still heart