Upstairs

An old needle circles a warped record,
memories of simplicity, anxiety, and love
pour into a dark room;
reminiscent notes fill the emptiness.

Downstairs, he swirls his glass;
the more he tries to forget,
the more his troubled, uncontrolled mind
has to flog him with.

Familiar weapons in expected places,
quick moments of unintentional,
powerful understanding,
as our eyes accidentally meet
over and over again.

But upstairs,
the same distorted sound emanates
from dry speakers
and falls on weathered ears,

Until he can take no more,
and his tears weigh on the vinyl,
twinkling stars on the black sheet,
they grind the wretched sound
to a final, sandpaper stop.