The thing about a damaged record is, it still plays.
It\'ll be off key, out of tune and repeat, but it\'ll play.
When you hear the same thing over and over again, it either clings to your thoughts and you become accustomed to it or it destroys the beautiful sound you once heard.
Our voices crack. They waver, and they become horse and dry.
Our bodies become condemned houses that used to be homes and inside is a record player that plays the same sad song.
We start to disintegrate. Fading into the melody and quiet hum of a needle on scratched plastic.
Continuing to skip over the happiest tunes.
We dance to the crackle of static and spin through the motions, listening to the echo of a hollow heart.
I think it\'s time we created new sounds.
(m.g)