Sad Guitar

They dig deep
deeper than consolation
the deepest recesses
of one's mind

his will is intact
but is being stepped on
used as a door mat
welcome dirt and mud

he is ridiculed
for nothing more
than tiny holes
in his character

his arms are numb
eyes are wide and awake
his veins busy
circulating honey and blood

the sweet taste
left in a pointed tip
dripping and mocking
reused, unsanitized

to save exposure
from an unsatisfied crowd
unsatisfied eyes
satisfying their mispronounced rights

they push him
and push, and push
until there's nowhere to go
they push him

he goes over the edge
his will is still intact
he lost the will to bathe
stinking of everyone's laughs

the public spectacle