sights and piano sounds

the piano plays
slow
and high,
in the tune
of every single
sad song
that has compelled you
to put it on repeat.

the ones that remind you
of her
and everyone else,

of all the good days
when something
or another made
sense.

you listen for a frequency
that is familiar,
a frequency that is true
to something
that was once
you.

at these times
you want to rip your guts out
and that thing
they call a heart.

you want to rip them out
because of how good they gripped you
then.

but now,
it's just you,
alone in this room,
lighting another cigarette
like it's your only friend.

the images
you see are color
but you know
they were once black
and white,
and a picture will always trump
what words cannot visualize.

the piano doesn't help
but
there's always
a new song
to hear about
tomorrow.