Pain

I’ve been lashed by the bow of a violin that’s been tuned too many times
The bow;
dragging down my spine in sultry lullabies,
Bouncing in pitch and whine over vertebrae and humming sinew and muscle inside.
All the waves, the crescendos, the tides
Are flowing silky and pulsing without set time
I ache for a feeling that isn’t a pain
But what is a feeling when you have a worn out instrument for a brain?
(Pain was soft. It was rough. It was an ache. And it is a roar. A symphony that plays for a never settled score)