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For Three People

We've all had these moments.

when from somewhere deep inside you
it hurts like hell to breathe
and you're broken from the inside out,
with hurt in your blood
and in the marrow of your shaking bones.

when your fingertips sting from guitar,
your hands are bent from piano
and ache from the pen you gripped so tightly
just a few seconds before.

when it hurts your ears to sing
it burns your throat to listen
and you're so paper thin that
when you try to put something, anything down,
it's like writing on your skin with a carving knife.

when the words that lived in the very air you breathe
simply don't want to live anymore because
they see no point and have no faith in any kind of master plan
and that brilliance in your head goes to waste
because all the strength is gone.

when you struggle to stand still
as the world turns around you,
and the Earth pulls you with it
by your frayed and double knotted heartstrings.

when you feel lost in the woods at night,
with no moon and no star to guide you;
the moss grows on all sides of the trees,
the wind seems to come from all directions,
and when the sun finally rises,
it appears overhead and refuses to change.

when you're drowning in your thoughts,
locked in the bottom chamber of your heart,
choking on tears and can't stay afloat any longer.

that's when i think of you,
and when you smile
it seems a little better.

when i need to hear you sing,
see you dance,
watch you play your guitar,
and your words heal deeper
than anything could.

when i want you to
breathe the words you penned into me,
need to talk in the library,
want you to hold my hand
and tell me about god.

when you string me back up
like a new guitar,
make my eyes light up
because you know
i'm afraid of the dark,
and tell me to swim no matter what.

that's when i think of you
and i hope you think of me.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
i think i'm getting mushy...anyway, this is obviously a long one, but we've all got those, right?
Editing stage: 

Comments

Lovely poem but you could remove a few of the ands, ie. When i need to hear you sing,
to see you dance.
Watch you play your guitar,
let your words heal deeper
than anything could.
Regards Roscoe...

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

i'll look at it again and take that into consideration.
thanks,
mag

author comment

I liked the imagery in this write, and agree with the suggestions Roscoe made. Being a guitar player, I had to smile at how you closed the poem - a newly strung guitar. It's like a clean slate. Nicely done.

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