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.