Home life home life home life

Set down on a gramophone and sent whirling in an endless loop of five hundred miles per hour

Tiny scratches on vinyl shoot through the air

Concatenate with dog barks and buckling wood

The friction builds up with each sock that slides across the floor.

Arrows forever fly in circles

and infinitely switch directions to aim at my heart, at my chest.

Directly into my chest where the shocks and blood spurts and collapsing walls

Strike through veneers of daisy blue and periwinkle pastel

Piles of debris condense into tiny bullets and flash through my sternum

Breaking the world to pieces

And leaving me to wonder

How does the stale air get staler every time you speak?

Because life is ****ing stale when you play it on repeat.