Baritone agony

Such sweet words.

Break my heart so swiftly.

Like a crushed petal under your practiced hands.

Teased away from my stem.

How can it feel so good to be handled by skilled hands?

Does my heart ache to be sore and bruised?

Crushed?

It is ready?

Wanting?
It pulses so strongly for your drumsticks, pounding away upon me.

My little drummer boy.
Make music of me.
I begin and end for your genius.
Shall my cries sing you a tune? 
Will you play to my sobs?
Will you play my strings and pull from me impossible riffs?
It feels like it. 
You are never more attentive than when my heart is performing as a chorus for you. 

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