I Am A Broken Record

I Am A Broken Record

Why would I do drugs?
I have lived high in coincidence, signs
& meanings conjured through another human being
— addictive vibrancy! Do you not see?!

The immediacy
with which he connected to my deepest
meanderings, thoughts and feelings:
fed me.

I try to live clean
But after being hooked on treats
Like perfect music links and sayings
My laughing cuts grooves: deep.

I am a broken record.

Imagine stretching out a high 24-7
That was my existence!
Living, laughing to myself his expression
How can I be normal without it?

Some have ex-boyfriends.
I’ve got that and more: ex-Muses.
Some may call me “mental”
But by extraordinary circumstances –

Well, just listen to my music…

How can I love “normal”?
Am I a Con Artist hiding her true self?
Playing her tunes in secret like a junkie and her pen-syringes
Pricking veins again, injecting memories?

It is not that I seek the mind fuck again.
But who understands those brilliant rushes?!
What does it take to fulfill a woman like this?
Surely, the madness is tiresome.

We all pull out the favourite songs
And reminisce in thought at the sounds.
But if you were waxed and engraved, made and spun
By someone’s self and production

Might you find it hard to stop
Might you crave to melt by sun

So warped, little Broken Record girl.
By vibrations from the singer man from a world apart.

Sailing men avoid temptation knowing about sirens, you see.
But what name do we provide female navigators
for the resonant pull of some males’ frequencies.

Sylvie Hill 2017