The record spins.
Always spinning, it never stops
because it’s broken.

Spinning inside my head, inside my chest,
though at first the music sounds beautiful,
it’s off-key.

Spinning before my eyes
the people, creatures,
juggling balls flying through the air,
everything is moving.

“By trying to control everything
you end up controlling nothing.
Not that you can control anything, anyway.”

The record keeps spinning.
The record keeps playing.
Broken.