The Process

I am disturbed, there is a cacophony within my head,

Beating against my skull, thrumming relentlessly,

Every waking moment.

I exist within an opaque, white mist, a constantly humming void.

(The only color to be found is in my dreams.) 

And I cannot capture it, a colorless humming bird, so tiny and fast.

Can anyone see my soul? 

Suspended in the very center of this vast, bleak, world of my creation.

Tightly bound by tentacles only I see, created by the noise rattling around me.

The sounds only I can hear and struggle to explain, to share and explain.

If I could just define what is deep inside, underneath.

Breathing is an epic battle and escape impossible

Like the ivy planted for appearance outside a home,

The vines of my thoughts become instruments of my torment.

They are pervasive and all consuming,

Growing wildly – outward and in at once,

Burrowing into every crevice.

Strangling and fracturing the infrastructure of my very foundation

Squeezing every drop of blood from my heart.

Draining every last tear from my eyes.

Vile, hateful, razor sharp taunts against my substance.

Bitterly, I acknowledge that they are born of my very nature.

I cannot break away, this is integral to my person.

So I am choked and compressed into a piece of black carbon

Into a smooth, solid black, inexplicable agony

Until the noise finally explodes from me

Breaking me into infinitesimal fragments,

For all to view.

Like so much dust, I am swept away.