To a Friend

I have heard the symphonies of your sadness,
your compositions in the dark.

I have heard you play them, not with a violin and its bow,
But with your arms and a blade, two things not meant to be together.

I have seen the aftermath of your silent concierto.
But nobody is applauding, except for the demons you chose to entertain.

Perhaps each and every note for you is the perfect melody, an escape,
a masterpiece for the world to see that you are something not to be ignored.

Perhaps what you see is an orchestra that will finally free you from the silence you were left alone in.
But all we hear is the distant melody of a coffin being lowered into the grave.

I don’t want to hear the end of your song,
the slow, painful crescendo that everyone around you will hear.
I don’t want to hear the bells,
its tolling tones whispering, calling for tears.

So lower your bow, release the strings.

You do not need music that bleeds.


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