Thursday, December 16, 2010

A dusty old Chromaharp...



My fingers started to bleed around the edges, and I don't care.

I've been picking out songs already, playing them low and sweet and knee-length dress sexy. My fingers know the keys, and my voice aches to sing as loud and high as it can.
But I have to stretch it out, go slow.

Songs are already pouring out of my mouth, some too quickly to remember.

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