Shattered remains of a broken guitar.
Splinters I can’t put back in place.
Pieces don’t fit together,
I can’t mend you, my love.
I can’t fix what I myself broke,
Strings that now play this muted, ugly sound,
No longer reaching from end to end,
There isn’t enough glue in the world.
A blue guitar. Rosewood guitarist.
Disappointed. Demented. Distraught.
Want to see another break?
Hold me by the fretboard, snap off my headstock.