my guitar and i

strings that know no limits.

the guitar strings stay intact
after they've just been played
till their very last breath

why are you not broken?
the same way the slightest whisper behind your back
keeps you thinking till your brain has no wiggle room
left for your thoughts.

how?

these elegant instruments
they're played till their final breath
to express such emotion
incomprehensible to some
fully understood to others.

minutes in the single digits
able to express years and years of suffering
an entire journey

these strings of anguish,
after expressing such emotion
they continue playing as usual
as if nothing had ever happened

unlike us,
we are unable to continue as normal
after being struck with a calamity
which is why

which is why.

these elegant instruments
they possess what we lack

they possess the philosophy of
ascension
while we possess the philosophy of
confinement.

confinement with no horizon.

they say a dog is man's best friend
but a guitar is man's most understanding friend.

so, sit alone on your hard wooden floor
with your dog as your witness
and play your guitar.

play your guitar.

until you have found your rhythm,
for if you find it,
you will play until
your hands are drowned in its own blood
and the guitar screams blood mary.

play your guitar.