Sorrow

You play a tune
of sorrow
until your
fingers bleed.
Glistening droplets
pooling, all around
your feet.

Self-pity turns to
anger. No sobbing
sounds around.
A masterpiece of
mayhem engulfs
the room right now.

The crescendo is
beginning. The coda
now in sight.
Your lungs inflating
weakly ... then
suffocation arrives.