Under the Weather

Under the Weather

A conspiracy

in the chords,

reckless restraint

in a nutshell,

forgetting;

fingers press the strings

of my favorite guitar.

A little 

on the level,

bargaining with the devil

for coin or coins.

Never noticing,

the bitter burgundy

from a Dixie cup,

like milk from a goat

or the sting

of cold winters breath.

Desperate;

being under the weather 

or at least

pretending to be so.

As I grip the Rosewood,

enjoying the pain

from every callus,

biting my lip

just to taste the blood.

Letting me know

that I am still,

alive?