the silhouette of
a fading record player
shapes into mind
as the blood trickles
down her ghostly face,
tripping me with a pool
of insufferable guilt,
for it was the record
player that blinded me
from facing the issue, that
made me run instead of
conquer while i still could.
—
" Escapism isn't freedom. "
.
.
.
[ The end. Thank you for reading, and I hope you've learned something from this story. ]
YOU ARE READING
RECORD PLAYER. POETRY
Poetry❝ ESCAPISM ISN'T FREEDOM. ❞ She drowns along with the haunting cries of his record player. Except the drowning she suffers from never stops, and like the record player, one can only find their self to listen. 2018 © importedbeverages STATUS : comple...
