there are times when
all you can feel is nothing
no rhyme or reason
no rhythm
no melody

not a single note in sight
no colour to be heard
no breeze to savour
although the aftertaste
is bittersweet

so you try them on
feeling after feeling
discarded on the floor
in a pile of ***** laundry
the broken records

and then they spin
out of control
there's no order
and no queue
the tapes won't rewind

the sink is still broken
your words still sting
the jukebox remains silent
empty.