Toy Piano

I was dreaming of a land, far, far away
there was a forest
and a waterfall
lush with water,
and a muse
so beautiful and pleasant
no, not you.

I was dreaming,
when I felt something move
and I woke up, and still drowsy
I saw them, next to my pillow
I thought they were ants
marching on my breadcrumb bed
but they were "I love yous" instead
walking on a funerary procession
on a silent protest

to bury this poem in a manhole
inside an old toy piano
instead of a coffin
which my poor poem
could never afford.

Their tears lit up the path
like tiny little candles
in the Christmas you destroyed
each and everyone
and always.

They left footprints burnt
on the ground beneath them
spelling out your name
repeated, over, and over again
like the monotonic and rehearsed routine
of the metronome mechanical fuck
you dare call love

Every "Sorry" word I said
has began a rebellion
they are an army, if you recall
like little villagers they've come
with pitchforks and torches with that matchbox
where I first wrote my number, for a flag
My machine gun is loaded
with all those sad things you said
and as my heart burns in ache for love
I set you free
like a ship to sail
on the quicksand ocean
you call mirror

I thought they were an army of ants
but they were only words