Momma would pick up the violin

When her heart was breaking.

And the strings she would play

Until her fingers,

They were aching.

And her tears

Made the melody

Flow from her soul.

Even though I was young,

I felt it in my blood.

The love and the hate.

The longing and yearning

As it echoed from impossible

Depths.

Each note

Bleeding

Out

From the

Fissures

Of her

Heart.

*choleintodiamonds*

* originally posted May 2014*