Mar 2019
By. Lauren
My world is like a broken record constantly spinning on the turntable not being able to stop but not being able to play any tune worth hearing.
As the record I call life turns the obnoxious screeching commences.
The spinning never ceases to give up its power as it begins to make me nauseous.
My life gives no concern to the activities I can no longer appreciate.
You do not realize how wondrous a record is until it spins 24/7 leaving only the residue of past headaches and brain trauma in your mind.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.
My world is like a broken record constantly spinning on the turntable not being able to stop but not being able to play any tune worth hearing.
As the record I call life turns the obnoxious screeching commences.
The spinning never ceases to give up its power as it begins to make me nauseous.
My life gives no concern to the activities I can no longer appreciate.
You do not realize how wondrous a record is until it spins 24/7 leaving only the residue of past headaches and brain trauma in your mind.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.
Loving with a chronic illness is like being held underwater not being able to breathe but not being able to save yourself either. Some days you just feel hopeless.
