The crooked keys
On the piano play
With tortured ease
My soul will fray
Like a refrain
I repeat and repeat
Singing the same tune
Until I am finally complete
But that rusted piano
Is all that's left of you
That will be given to me
And it only plays on your cue
So I sit on the piano bench
All dolled up, sad, and bland
I look like a trampled ballerina
But I just wanna hold your hand
YOU ARE READING
This Is The Sad Part
PoetryA selection of poems I've written that represents my experience with depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues.
