In this skin i feel my music. In this skin i know my face. It's not a canary caressing a sonnet. But more like a crow beneath fog's sweaty cape. My crackling caw is gruff on arrival. Grasping at branches long since forgotten, and shake loose my story from the bottom of the gullet. I sound the call of life with my throat to heaven gaping. Loud, gruff, stubbly, and obtuse. This is my song, i am its valley. But even the thorn makes a lasting impression. And what is one's life but its effect on others? My body is a tiny pebble, and this life a ripple through the fabric of forever.