Of the Poem I Wrote #3

Please do forgive me.I wrote this at 3am.Thank you.Haha.

The guitar i used to play,leaned silently on the wall.
The strings already rusted,a faint metallic smell,
The tears that fell,now soaked within the frets,
Where i played at C Sharp Minor,a song i so dearly dread.

So many poems i tried to write,
Mercilessly crushed and tossed aside.
Your faces were all over them,already torn apart,
Laid quietly on the floor,alongside my broken heart.

My face on the table,slapped by fears,
The blank pages laughed,which so softly pierced.
I could almost smell the old wood and the dried up tears,
Mingled amidst the soaked up paper,under my blood shot ear.

Lingering in my thoughts,the years and the memories,
No more than worthless poems and wordless stories.
Lock you up and throw away this key,
Which i should toss away,away down into this dying sea...