Broken Orchestra

Showering in a hail
of dainty rose thorns scathing,
tsunami washes straight through me,
when I should be bathing.

The tapestry of my wall
has faded, drowned and frozen.
My brush has left a trail of paint
from where I whence came,
and now my brush is broken.

My heart eats itself away,
a bloodied muddle.
The tears down my cheeks
are far from musical,
they’re a broken orchestra
of strangling strings,
and my percussion is fading.

My heart beats an empty echo,
its vacant gaze opens up to nothing.
Muscles constrict my movement;
going nowhere, this feeling is incessant.

 Alex Harford.