He played me like a cello

soft and sweet

 

until the finale.

 

The high notes whined

and the low notes dragged on, on, on.

 

The finale

was agonizing.

 

And when it was over

I looked into the mirror and wept.

Such a beautiful piece.

 

My ears strained to hear

the symphonic sound.

 

He stood

swept up his flattering instrument

and quietly exited the stage.

 

I look behind me and behold

a see of women with betrayal

burning in their eyes and on their lips.

 

They will never forgive.

 

I look back to my mirror.

Now I see it was broken.

My perception, warped.

 

I mend my mirror

but this time I turn it to him.

 

He is the broken one.

 

It is now I that rises,

putting his dexterity behind me,

and softly disappears.

 

I walk alone but one thought

courses its way through my mind:

 

It's time to write a new song.