I surround myself with noise
and it floods me with adrenaline.
Stoking my ego until it boils.
Though, once the fuel is gone, the
boil is a simmer is a tepid is a standstill.
And that emotion has evaporated, but has
still left behind a residue.
A coating that sits on the back
of my throat, and settles on the bottom
of my stomach, and films over my
heart’s chambers.
I’ve self-medicated more than a few
of those doses, because the screaming
is a nice departure from the baseline silence.
And each application deposits another layer of
this silken tar.
Silently, it will build, until the only
way to trip another surge, and tap into
that experience will be to fall
headlong into the ether, screaming my
soul out, until the singularity kisses me.