The Music Box Ballerina

October 23, 2011
By Anonymous

Beethoven, my love, oh how he persists
His seductive strings peel away from their
violins to intertwine with my hair
and wrap around my pale, porcelain wrists.
“Dance for me, Schatz! Dance for me!” he insists
while the keys of his grand piano prepare
to lodge into my ribcage and impair
my heart’s rhythm, so none but his exists.
But as I move to dance, I remember
my ghastly sacrifice for liberty
and grieve the feet I once used at leisure
Was freedom worth my own vivacity?
I clutch the ankles I had to butcher
and mourn sweet Beethoven’s fidelity.

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