The store room

The guitar lay abandoned
Unloved amid dust and sparkles
I wondered of life it once breathed
Fingers playing, voices humming along
A chip on the right shoulder
Now rusted strings
I was asked not to take it, not yet at least
So I stole some notes
Chords and a pretentious riff

The books were atop others
A scratched name on the first page
Debonair underlined and carefree beside it
Remnants of toil and an overworked pencil
Like the book thief, Italian enthusiast, paedophile
Not yet again
And I played with snatched words on my tongue
Even one from a book I claimed to have read

Then a frank mirror
For before that date, farewell and Thursday class
A crack on the left corner
Yet an untarnished image
A "you're beautiful" sticker on the right
For an emerging smile
Nope, still no
I fixed my bangs with a crinkled nose
And a handful of new conquests