Music is medicine. Calloused fingers pick guitar strings and I found happiness within vibrations. Raised by the streets- an old acoustic guitar with its case sat open at my feet begging for spare change where there was none to be found. The kindness of others kept me full, but that did not last for long. I was no longer sympathetic the older I got- not a mere helpless child but a waste of space sat upon a street corner and begging for what he was too lazy to chase.
I just didn't know how else to survive.
I could read music before words. Hours spent huddled in an alleyway, pouring over pages placed in the trash cans of the music store across the street, I loved every fucking minute of it. I often yearn for the days that I didn't know any better. When honeyed words, promises of passion turned to profit did not take advantage of an eleven year old boy with the stars in his eyes.
They gave me everything I could have asked for, a penthouse apartment and more money than I knew what to do with. I am forever in their debt, completely at their disposal. We are tangled together, for just about forever.
If only I had known that my performances would have nothing to do with a guitar. That I would not die hungry at the cost of never dying happy, either.
All there's left to do is sing myself to sleep. Music is medicine, but I have finally found wounds that it cannot cure.