Music on the turntable is turning,
As of late my music choice has been slow and thoughtful,
less danceable.
Melodies of climbing, falling, reaching,
everlasting secluded isolation.
Notes of the needle scratches against my tired scrawny legs,
as I try to stand,
but crash against the vinyl pavement of subdued independence.
Sunlit stars open my blind eyes
to realize I cannot implode any longer,
but must explode the generosity of lava filled inside my artery edifice.
I grasp my heart but the touch is numb
Years of emotional debt has taken over
I can only reach out to find that I am
alone.
...Music on the turntable is turning...
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