The music isn't the same anymore
Pianos sit unchanged, unbothered
For a decade before your clawed hands
Dare to reach for them
Like a half-starved animal on the brink
Of death and other dumb fuckery.
Empty amber bottles
A million newspaper clippings
Beautiful beautiful ex-wives
But no love, no life
Where is the music?
The women will soften your hands
With their soft thighs
You won't know right from wrong
The alcohol will hum in the mind
You'll bleed into a thousand cigarettes
Maybe a thousand more after the first
Heart attack rolls around
But the music won't play.
Sit at the piano
Reel back into blue reality
And make the music she asked for.
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
