second fiddle

frayed & faltering
this prologue prolongs
my sad solo

it's always returning
like a blushing boomerang
with tucked tail

why would you ask how i am

when the answer beats
fine, fine, fine

turning on my mind
all these lightpillars
holding up my trust

i'm so weary of writing
all these proposals
of making them new

torn up, shunned, what to do
which one of these days
will you be mine, mine, mine