My fingers plucked the best elegy I could write;
A song that you will hear tonight.
I hope your heart will throb so hard,
you’d want to tear your ribs apart.
Your favorite guitar you left at home,
I’ll use to play that written song.
As soon your eyes be filled with tears,
My woe will be replaced with cheers.
“I can still feel my breath in me;
you already killed me with that elegy.”
You blurted out with bloodshot eyes.
On your knees and now a mendicant.
But now I don’t give a damn,
about your “Please forgive me” as you hold my hand.
All I want is for you to feel
that written song,
— Jc Joyce