Today was a good day
The chords she strummed were pleasant
Melodic
C, G, F
She plucked my strings gently
Her voice was light
She doesn't miss him
As much as she did
Yesterday

Today
Not so good
She played the song again
And again
"I feel something so wrong
Doing the right thing"
She ripped at my strings
Till her fingers bled
And tears streamed down her face
Her voice was quiet
Choked
She missed him
Very much

Today was okay
She played the song
"Everything that kills me
Makes me feel alive"
But just once this time
It was flawless
But she forced a smile as she sang
Like the song meant nothing
It didn't hurt
Her fingertips were healed
There was applause
She whispered
"Thank you"

Today was a good day again
The chords weren't as flawless
As yesterday
She made mistakes
But her voice was strong
"I feel that love
And I feel it burn"
She missed him
More than ever
But he's the reason I stayed
Why I wasn't put away
He mattered because
He's her muse
Her life
The harmony to her melody
And hopefully
He'll know soon

Haven't really eaten, in a long time.
Wasting away. Physically,
but not mentally yet.
Yet.
Banging on instruments for
the perfect cacophony.
Stormy tonight outside Cleveland
as I stab away inside my laboratory.
Raining hell and I **** around
till my ears are almost bleeding,
screaming, more aspirin,
lighting thunder, and in the
dead sequences of recording
IT LIVES.
Strings detuned from a menace,
pure chaos on a note rings on,
SKRONK.
Skronk is freedom,
every voice saying what
every voice has to say.
5/4 and it's ******* outside,
and all I know is the key to
utopia is any note you like
in A major.
**** the signature.
Skronk is *freedom.

And honestly,
At this moment
All that's running through my head,
Is rock n' roll,
And near memories..
Cotton candy sky,
And oxygen breeze.
My droopy eyes
Are that of relaxation,
Not any earth-grown happiness.
My slow heart beat is smooth sailing,
Not candy-like pills.
natural high
So beautiful in a way,
But darling..
Do you remember being high with me?
High on life and love..
Together,
Our hearts beating a irregular tune.
But that's no longer,
So I sit and listen to angry melodies,
Screechy guitar riffs
And lay here,
High alone.
Not nearly good as being high with you,
I can no longer hear your heartbeat..
Nor mine..

it's cold and dark and calm outside
so you make sure that i'm tucked up tight
but i need fresh air so the window is open ajar
whilst there in the corner lays a battered guitar

i'm high as hell so you carried me home
and wrapped me up into a bed of your own
you throw a lumpy mattress by the guitar on your floor
and apologise in advance for the fact that you snore

because i can't even remember my name
may give the green light to most, to see me as 'fair game'
my hair is a mess and my clothes are askew
but that doesn't seem to matter to you

i'm taken aback as you toss me a shirt
you try to stifle your laugh but i catch you smirk
as i try to escape from the clutch of my dress
i hear a laugh which you fail to suppress

i wrestle your shirt with my limbs in a tangle
you yank it over my head, for which i am thankful
i wriggle free from the blanket and sit up cross legged
as you fling yourself down at the foot of your bed

you tell me you've just got a text from my mother
who says she trusts me with you and no other
and that you are under very strict instructions
to keep me away from all teenage destruction

it's 1.30am and my thoughts are cotton wool
but our bottle of ***** is still three quarters full
my eyes spy the battered guitar in the room
and i beg you to play me my favourite tune

an undeniably slow start as you mess up the chords
and ramble on about how i'm probably bored
but my eyes fix on yours with an encouraging grin
and as you continue to play, goosebumps rise on my skin

and as you place the battered guitar back down
you sarcastically ask whether i'm happy now
the buzz of my body and the smile on my face
shows that here, happiness is truly the case

Dead weight
Living on the edge
Of burden casts a
Shadow in the light
For flat broke dreamers
Strumming their guitars
On broken strings and
Poets writing as the
Ink runs dry.

©Ben Ditmars 2014

by a crackling fire
with an untuned guitar
as the sun makes its way to its bed

just a few friends
and a bottle of drink
as we discuss all the signs we misread

the uncertain future
regrets of the past
we ask how the world keeps on spinning

from friends to lovers
and lovers to strangers
we're desperate for our new beginnings

so we stop all the talking
and find a way out
you pick up a guitar and you strum

we sing and clap
and knock our drinks back
as our minds begin coming undone