Vines
I no longer listen to certain songs that remind me of you
If I do my brain becomes like white grapes in a wine press
the juice seeping out of my eyes
leaving the pomace sloshing within my skull
fertilizing seeds of pernicious thoughts and feelings
that soon sprout into an invasive infestation
of intransigent vines winding their way
into every crack and crevice
taking root throughout my essence
excruciatingly painful to pull
only releasing their hold after extraordinary effort
It would be far easier to leave them be
They’re quite pretty actually but they would weaken
the mortar holding me together causing it to crumble
I don’t have the energy anymore
to rebuild myself brick by brick as I’ve done before
There is silence where once was the ever present
sound of singing, the plinking of pianos
the strumming of guitar strings, the beat of bass drums
all blending together into audible art
There is only the music within me
The steady metronome of my heart
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