Melted Records

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?