Rest in Spikes

The sleek mahogany shines...
a glint in the eye of her owner.
A solitary right in the room alights...
Both of them stand stoned.

Both of them reach a melodic madness.
The maple neck gleaming red with blood...
The sweet disturbance reaches the ears of the spikes...
Keep the blood flowing...let the room flood.

Both of them are fatigued...
but the music doesn't seem to stop.
With each note he lets out misery...
A last squeal and the madness comes to an abrupt halt.

Tripping into the myriad visions of melancholy...
The rusted metal strings vibrate...
Another piece of mayhem and evil.
Improvise...renovate.

The strings entwined to the bridge...
are hit repeatedly till they snap.
Both of them fall to the ground.
Both of them tired and trapped.

The owner slips to an uncomfortable slumber...
his mangled hands lay at rest.
He is bound by spikes...their company he enjoys.
"Rest in Spikes" they tell him...
Indeed its a blessing in disguise.