Needle To The Groove

The music was beautiful
Which was why it drove her insane.
Notes wafted from the gramophone
With grace and precision,
Each keystroke sounding like the end of a glass microcosm

When pace briskened,
These tiny apocalypsi made her cover her ears and scream at the sheer magnitude.
All rational thought evaporated in this fever.

There was no post-traumatic trigger at work
No subconscious snare
No plausible reason why something so soothing
Should drive her to such a place.

She'd never even heard of Ravel's "Gaspard De La Nuit"
Yet now it was forcing her into a psychotic episode.
And all she could think of was the crystal-smashing pain it caused
And that no one would come along to bring her back to sanity.

On and on she danced the dance
Led by her partner Monsignor Lennox-Gastaut
Spasms wringing the last
Of a life otherwise livable
Unto the surface of the Earth like a sponge
To soften the dirt to ease her own burial

Wide-eyed, the silence reigns.