Broken Record.

Something inside of me wants out. I don’t know what it is. But whatever it is, it’s tearing me apart from the inside out. I want to scream at the top of my lungs because I have no voice. I want to paint the sky because paper is too small. My mind is shutting down again. My thoughts are getting scrambled. I’m a broken record playing endlessly in a broken record-player.  I’m fuzzy, and the noise I make is intolerable. Only I know the original beautiful song that once was and is no more.