This keyboard of mine,
she knows the pressure from my fingers
From the letters i have been punching
and from those that i softly touch
she knows how my day has been...
These neatly painted letters,
they know the warmth of my fingers
they know my breeze-cooled salty tears
from my not so quite sobs
they know how broken i sound
so i pull out my wet tissues
i bribe them with sweet scents
these black, tear stained keys
i wipe sticky away
so that they dont sell me out
i press them slow and gently
i combine them correctly,
and write thr sincererest of apologies
'its not your fault love'
am stupid to take it out on you