White Noise

[aanix]

My fingertips still smell of you
and I am strangely composed.
Solid,
when I had so expected to melt.

I suppose I've done my mourning
and the lack of you has filled with memories -
solace, no regrets.
I am not so hollow as I have been
and thought to be again.

There is space for me now.
Always too cowardly,
too confused,
too overwhelmed to carve out my place
and stake my claim when so many voices
crowded around,
crippled.

Sitting still,
alone with my thoughts:
an alien place--
unwelcome,
hateful,
frightening
white noise
of my own voice rambling,
speaking over itself again
and again
until all is null and void
and I crumble
under the weight of this malicious silence,
reach out
and yearn for comfort.

Any kind voice to sooth,
to break up the relentless static--
someone to stop me
from gnawing away at myself,
crushing and grinding into nothing
with words from a viper's tongue
to poison my psyche
till all that remains is a screeching,
nails-on-a-chalkboard, demon syren song
of white noise
growing louder
and louder
till my ear drums pop.

I kept losing to it
without ample distraction,
vibrant blindfolds,
idle chatter,
touch,
touch,
soft,
sweet,
succulent,
sink my teeth in
and rip
and tear it all to pieces.

But not now.
The silence is calm,
there's no tumult to meet my foggy eyes
as they blink,
blink awake this morning.