I am the broken record
Bleeding black vinyl across the dusty wood floors,
Leaving a sticky imprint of plastic and glue
Behind as though someone will read the clues
And piece together the story of my melodic demise.
.
Light streams through the window,
Decorates me in the yellow petals of sunrise.
All I want is to bury my head in the lilacs,
Drink up the golden glow of spring,
And settle here on the floor, gathering dreams with dust.
.
Could I dip my hands in the river of thunderstorms,
Steal some lightning and rain?
Can I dream of humming a pretty song
Until the bones disintegrate?
Or am I stuck here, a melted record of black on the floor?
About the Creator
Silver Serpent Books
Writer. Interested in all the rocks people have forgotten to turn over. There are whole worlds under there, you know. Dark ones too, even better.
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Comments (5)
Taking that idea of a broken record shattered and melted is so striking. I don't want you to remain a mess on the floor.
I really don't have any other word that is most apt for this other than exquisite - from the title to every well-formed and impactful line - just sublime. Loved it and Glad DK gave it a shout out on Raise Your Voice! Well done on this piece!
Evocative writing! I LOVE this!
Stunning, Silver! The visual and tactile imagery in the first stanza was an impressive anchor, such a wistful second stanza, and such earnestness in the last
"river of thunderstorms" - beautiful lines