His fingers strummed upon a harp where the threads of my heart lay strung.
His song made the oceans within my soul quietly ebb and flow.
His harmony brought me euphoric heights, as well as a crushing low.
In cruel beauty, he left me breathless, ripping the air out from each lung.
As he strummed on my heartstrings, my spirits indeed had sung.
Held close to his chest, we moved step in step for longer than I could know.
The bliss he brought forged a bond inspired; indelibly, soulfully so.
But his tune morphed, disconcertingly so; to be his eventually stung.

His song grew to crescendo – he would not stop – more roughly, his strums would grow.
Reverie’s harmony grew into cacophony where vicious melodies would not stop flowing.
The violence with which he struck at my heartstrings, one by one, dealt fatal blows.
With so many replacements at his hand, it mattered not that my heartstrings were breaking.
They had not the strength to live through his song; I only wish I did know.
How transient our love would be, in our final piece: ‘Destruction in the Making.”