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Apr 2018
My fingers are numb.
Pressing down on each chord,
I strum hoping to make a tune.
I hear a vague melody
Muffled by the uncoordinated digits.

This guitar is the sum
Of what my soul can afford.
With my relationships pruned,
These strings give me clarity.
Your facade fractured my spirit.

ā€œIā€™d watch grass grow with you.ā€
A line I swore was true.
Unable to see the difference
Between a chorus
And
a verse.
Elisa Holly
Written by
Elisa Holly  DALLAS
(DALLAS)   
120
   Ć° and Wordmancer
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