sweet saint of rock takes the stage.

your talent is as if you sold your soul in an under the table deal, back room of a seedy-naked-lamp sort of joint just south of the city. it's as if your fingers and those belonging to the obese boss of such matters touched briefly enough for a transfer of words and song. like you passed by a dealer on the street, dosing out the hard-to-find good stuff, and he whispered, "x, h, or something different." like you took him up for everything he was worth. though you could ingest some faintly colored tab to gain all your strength.

it isn't that it came on suddenly, but the fact that you've always had it that widens my eyes so. born with height, smile, and music woven into your double-helix.

my sweet saint of rock, how did you get to speak so softly and sing so strongly?