Record Playing Carousel

I feel like the record player in my head breaks any meaningful thing that gets placed onto it

Whether seconds later, or months later

That song…those words…play over and over and over and over

And I hate these goddamn songs

They don’t keep me up with a smile, but with a knife to the stomach and a tight grip to the heart

I hardly let myself close my eyes when I drink because I feel like I’m on a carousel and only see your face in the crowd

And sometimes there are none

And I can’t tell which scares me more

I’m scared that I’ll forever have trouble letting go

And I’m scared that I won’t know who I want to show up to help me off or jump on

~Megan

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