The Violin
A faint, squeaky tune plagues my ears
like a schizophrenic voice.
When I'm alone, it blocks out all,
everything that goes on in my mind.
It oscillates between major chords and minor,
each time chipping away a part of me.
I fight it hard, but often it wins
and commands me.
I sit and daydream about you. I cannot break out.
I scratch your name on the desk
then hurriedly, rub it out lest someone sees.
I am hypnotised. A somnambulist.
This tune, playing on my heartstrings,
I want to stop it. Either way the violin will break.