Guitarist - by Sushant Trivedi

By the day they feed on his flesh

And they don’t even leave the bones

He offers himself unto them

Because there is nothing else to do

But by the night he lives

In that secluded hour

When he lights up his cigarette

And plays his guitar

The music fills up the room

It drowns all that strife

And the smoking doesn’t kill him

It offers him life.