Kierstyn Ouellette


The Cutter's Violin


There once was a violinist
He wasn’t your usual violinist
He had no violin, but his arm
And no bow, but a blade
Ever night in the privacy of his room
He would play his violin…
Playing the saddest songs
Needing someone to listen
but no one ever did
So he played his last note
Deep and Sorrowful
Then faded away to the sound of his sad, sad song.

Submitted: Tuesday, March 04, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Topic of this poem: depression


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