My heart is a record grooved over with time and tragedy. Edged just right for the record player to play the song of my demonized past. At times, I run my finger down the galvanized surface of a note, a ballad, a lyric. I run my finger into a stanza for a quick sympathetic nod. I take an entire chorus to have a mans ear for the day. But all in in all, I can't speak for the motions that took part in creating the rhythmically choreographed uniqueness it took (an unbreakable train, it's cabooses made up of years of malicious abuse) the day in and day out of worry over the lines that would have to be carved to allow it for me to look into your eyes the way I do now.
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