My name is Gary. 

I have been but buried under the ash of my song long as I can remember. 

My hands and fingernails split and broken only the given words for meaning. 

Do you want that too? 

My name, my path, or my song? 

I do not claim it is beautiful. 

I only claim it is mine. 

Do you want it? 

Would you take the loops of my finger prints? 

Would you track my life? 

Carry my burden.

I must tell you it is heavy and I have had to leave fortunes in my wake.

Just not enough space on my palms.  

Not even room for a prayer. 

It is a jagged path of pain and confusion. 

No,  I do not claim it is beautiful.

But it is mine. 

My song is of bitter ashes, and I am drunk on sorrow. 

Do you want that pretender? 

Do you want that song? 

I carve it here on this tree. 

Eat this apple of creation.

 Oh you poor soul, do you know what that means? 

It is carved in blood and sap. 

It is my finest calligraphy. 

My life my wander through the cruelest night. 

No,  you would be insane to want my path on the broken cobblestone.

There is no healing only a walk on broken bone.  

No, you just want the song. 

Free of burden.

Just a sound of a life sifting through the ash as your art burns. 

The question I ask is: 

What will you do when she asks you to write one more just for her? 

Do you think I will write it for you? 

Sure thing, here you go:

My name is Gary, and my path is bitter and long. 

~mliarrr