Dim231

There was once a man holding silver threads,

thin and sharp like strings in a piano.

His strings held up a great weight,

and the strings cut into his fingers.

Yet the man could not let go,

He holds the threads hoping they break.

Indeed they fray and tarnish while he watches,

And to spite him they sprout their barbs and dig in.

But even still he could not let go, would not let go.

His blood had already stained the strings red,

His pain had already taken root too deeply.

The strings still somehow through tarnish,

Through red blooded dripping misery,

Still shined brightly enough to hurt his eyes,

And the heavy weight that he held through such pain,

He curses to this day, as he can not and will not let go.