Violins and heartstrings

Broken.

Life becomes

A grayscale,

Washed out,

Tasteless,

Badly sketched

Parody

As the music stops playing.

Whatever

It once was,

It is no more-

And your venom

Is blossoming

In my chest,

Sanitizing

The wounded heart,

Bandaging

Cracked ribs

With poison ivy

Of broken promises.

My head

Still aches,

At the sound of your name,

My eyes hurt

Even in darkness.

I see rot

Where the gardens

Once were.

And even blood

Tastes like ashes

In your presence.

Was it really

Worth it

That night?

Were we flying too high

Now that I feel

The fall

In my every bone?

Will these damned

Violins

Shut up in my head?

No amount of tears

Will ever

Wash that wretched

Sand

Out of my eyes:

I know that now.

And you do, too.

Love sometimes

Feels like that.

When reduced

To cinder and ash.

They're no violins.

They're heartstrings.

Tearing up.