Six Strings
Everyday reciting a silent plea
my stomach tied in perpetual knots;
Do I do it to myself? Maybe;
It’s been so long that I all but forgot;
Burning my soul and prickling my eyes
so intense you echo my mayday;
Your voice, my exact flavor of paradise
drowning slow, I blissfully float away;
Consumed by you and wound into your guitar
trapped between peace and the pain it brings;
The finish line seems so achingly far
held in the hands of six stinging strings.
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