The death of silence

 

I can hear it,

in the static from the tv,

in the echoes of the breeze,

in the rustle of the trees,

in footsteps

darting across

the attic above me.

Little snippets of sound,

like catching a glance

at something in the shadows

with the corner of your eye.

Little sighs, baby cries,

nursery rhymes,

squelching in the mind.

Sounds that grind.

 

There it is again,

in the background

of the song playing,

in the car turning its engine,

in the rush of the rain.

It’s like aural pain,

you can feel it twisting

through your nerves,

infiltrating your brain.

It’s in the intonation of spoken word,

hidden under every verb,

scattered like gunshots

through sentences heard

 

It’s right here,

I can feel it,

every reverberation,

every vibration, every twitch,

every shift in modulation.

It gets under the skin.

I can feel it when

the hairs ping up in fear,

in every breath, in every cough,

in every sneer,

in laughs as it bares its teeth.

That sound, that tenor,

the notes, the tones of terror,

it can never be severed.

The sound is everywhere.

 

It just won’t stop.

My mind awash with soundwaves,

piercing screeches

with no echoes that come,

voices chattering in unison.

It’s everywhere at once,

in the planes hanging overhead,

in the creak as I lay in bed,

in the taps dripping a drumbeat of dread,

in the rustle of my thoughts

that have come undone.

It screams with a sound

that leaves me numb.

It’s back again.

It’s in my head,

it won’t leave. I think it wants us dead.

That sound. That sound. That sound.

That hum.