Scratched Records Poem by Jordan Griffiths

can’t possibly be human.
A broken porcelain doll perhaps,
With a perfect painted face
Always smiling.
With eyes that burn like coal.
Eyes that soon
Burn out.
Burn up.
Burn away
Every protection.
Left naked and vulnerable,
With questions but
Answers in riddles,
Riddles in answers.
A bowl of white roses
Left to wither.
To forever be forgotten.
To be rooted in one place,
Hidden from the world.
Hiding from yourself.
Constantly on repeat
Like a scratched record.
Spinning, cold, shiny plastic,
Much like the world
Without the music
Notes passed like classroom gossip,
Through a silouhette without a
Shadow.
Leaving no trace,
Yet leaving it all.
Willing to walk away with nothing.
While the sun is too afraid to rise.
My path has been stolen
And replaced
With
A
Script.