Skips and scratches
Litter the limbs
Similar to a record I once owned
But lent to a friend
It was never returned
Thus I miss it dearly
That imperfect album with all my admiration
Unlike the songs, present so clearly
It was plastered in scrapes
Like unfiled nails on chalk board
The double edged blade
The needle a sword
It mocked the record as it spun
With each cycle another skip
And laughed as gargled speech
Poured from the vinyl's lips
Even the depressed turntable let out a chuckle
At the sight of the damaged disk
But it was not even broken
I do beg, why treat it like this
•••
A/N: weird phrasing. Eh. Anyway, have a good day or night or year and stuff.
YOU ARE READING
he/him/you
Poetry[completed] some half assed thoughts i've had about unrequited love and unnecessary hope shattering revelations
