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Um...
Did I write this? I think I did, but if I didn't, I'd appreciate someone telling me so. I found it on the top of one of my stories that I printed out a while ago.
And her fingers plucked the guitar strings
A lover's neck made of wood, not flesh
Hung not with necklaces
Beaten metal chains
But strings, resonant sound
Croons to her more skillfully
Then a larynx ever could
Music to your ears, isn't it
When you can't decided whether
You should want or desire
And you speak to hear your own voice
Is that another person in the room
Or are you still alive
....I must have wrote it. It makes no sense.
And her fingers plucked the guitar strings
A lover's neck made of wood, not flesh
Hung not with necklaces
Beaten metal chains
But strings, resonant sound
Croons to her more skillfully
Then a larynx ever could
Music to your ears, isn't it
When you can't decided whether
You should want or desire
And you speak to hear your own voice
Is that another person in the room
Or are you still alive
....I must have wrote it. It makes no sense.