I pulled a gun
on my record player,
started making demands.
“Make me feel everything that
I want to feel, and none of the things
that I can not handle,”
I commanded.
It was already spinning.
I shouted that I wasn’t
fucking around. Wasn’t scared
of going to prison: it’ll be hard
to pin a murder with no blood, motive,
or witnesses.
The plate continued spinning.
“No, I am not ‘overreacting,”
I bargained.
I still remember everything
that happened the last time
we tried this whole routine.
Back when my emotions
went rouge on me, threatening
to rip me apart.
Yet, the machine still danced, as if it didn’t have
a care in the world.
I fired the gun.
The blast became
the only sound in the room,
only for a second.
I opened my eyes in disbelief.
I had missed.
The music drifted back
into position. When the vocals
came back into focus, I winced,
bracing for the impact.
It didn’t feel so bad.
Not this time, anyway.
Everything was calm. I softly set
the still-smoking gun
down beside the speakers.
I had recovered faster than
I had thought. I laid in bed
with the music, my much maligned lover,
and finally smiled.
I guess I just
hadn’t noticed the change
till now.
Nathaniel Mauro
Nathaniel Mauro is a poet-in-theory and advocate for getting lost in the woods. His Instagram is @lastdatepoetry. He hopes you're not taking life too seriously.
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