Four+skinny+trees+emulation



"My guitar" It is the only thing that does what I want it to. I am the only one who knows how it plays. One Schecter guitar with a long neck and its internal parts unbroken, like mine. One that belongs in California, but traveled here. One heavy replacement sent from Schecter. Throughout the house it is heard, my dad tries to play, but doesn't understand yet.

Its tone kept quiet until good time. My guitar fires waves through the cable, commanding its amp to pound music. The clean vibrations ringing throughout the room. This is how it speaks.

If she couldn't play anymore, she'd shy like a deer without its call. Speak, speak, speak, my guitar says when I sleep. It calms.

When I'm too stressed to speak, that is when it plays out my emotions. As the homework stacks up. One who came despite its makers. One who plays and doesn't forget to play. One whose only reason is to entertain and speak my emotions.

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