She Sits

She sits

Strumming her guitar

Making her now calloused fingers graze over the resonate silver strings that float above the neck of her wooden companion

Strumming and strumming

A secret chord exists in her vocabulary, but its repelled back into the confines of her mind

As she pushes forward notes from her blood rushed fingertips

She strums and strums

Trying to stop that secret chord from breaking sound barriers.

She fills the air with familiar harmonies and melodies

Her eyes clouded by purple haze

While her heart beat keeps the tempo

She moves her hand over the shapely wooden body and memories that are

Triggered by the sensory images manifesting from those subtle hand movements

strike her

She starts to strum once more

but the tempo slows

As she continues to mover her fingernails over the curves of her guitar.

The strumming ceases

She's caught in a trance, recalling the lingering feeling of fingers clawing over the geography of flesh hills.

Trembling she starts to strum slower than before

And now that secret chord starts to crawl from the catacombs of her mind

But she doesn't want to replay that horror film

She still feels the imprints made by fingerprints on her skin

She still sees the dark images of that demon burnt into her retina