The hand in the carpal tunnel

You don’t understand; this may mean the end of life as I know it

Music and singing is my lifeline to sanity, and I am bereft

I mean, who will be the music to your song, if not me?

Don’t you realise how important this is to me?

You may think that I am over-reacting or exaggerating,

but hear me out, this is the vital spark after a long day working

and the mere thought of lifting up my faithful Martin

gives me sense of pleasure and such satisfaction

I feel like that single sock on a washing line

who wonders where you have gone, and at what time

The music in still within me, screaming to get out,

but without my guitar in hand, there it stays, without a doubt