They sing to me all hours of the day
with perfect voices in perfect pitch,
spitting songs into my head
long past any other voice has gone rough.
They curl around themselves
in coils and loops,
heads sticking out, straining
for air through gaps in zippers.
They sprawl crushed
under textbooks, stomachs pressed to desk tables
with only tiny round heads sticking out.
They try to sing
but can only screech and stutter
spending their days gasping
for air, forgotten
under heavy weights.
They are defunct, defeated, let down and dead.
Wires tangled up and fraying
seeking only to slither away.