My best friend got me this acoustic guitar one day because I was a song writer with out an portable instrument.
My songs were in my head, sometimes day and night, sometimes night and day. I could never seem to put them away. Sometimes they were acoustic, other times they were rythmic, sometimes they were ballads but they always came rapid. My songs were studio sessions and sometmes live, I could walk to a different beat and my life feels high.
I could turn them off but I could never turn them on the switch it was systematic, it would rollick me in my dream state. My mind is its own player, I have lyrics on napkins and the back of memos to prove it.
The day I opened the box it was like pandora's it was gift from the god's. I caressed it's wooden body and my mind went into a fog, I followed the strings from its bridge to its fret board and watch them wrap around the knobs like a begging lover.
I plucked the strings with a pick, I fondled the frets to make my fingers stick, I stroked the strings like caressing nylon thighs to only hear a melody cry. I rolled my eyes in my head and connected, I experimented with different chords just to be excepted. The strings sang to me and begged me to prolong and work with them while we worked on a song.
