ChickenButtz

alas, no man - let alone a violin - can orchestrate self-determination. here I lie, deserted, (Master's given up on me - given me up to a dust devil of a dissonant girl called – oh bitter irony – Lynn) unstrung and unwound, violet bruises cruising the seas of my some- time smooth surfaces. my innards, vital organs – behold my broken anima - have fared no better fate. an enema in my f-hole would have been far less filthy than the string of curses and fickle f-words I've tried to utter in the dark. as the bridge between me and reality breaks down into a dystopia of abused fingerboards and loose pegs, I