Willow Kelley

Sometimes it’s quick—
everything goes quiet,
but only for a second, if I’m lucky.

A heartbeat of peace
before the guttural scream.

It is mostly noise, though,
a ringing in my ears 
for what feels like days,
eventually consuming
the rest of my senses.

I can’t taste my dinner anymore,
so I stop eating,
can’t see past the haze,
so I keep my eyes closed.

I have always returned
with the day’s events smothered
by that piercing,
droning,
never ending
noise
no one else is hearing.

It consumes me, leaves me deaf
to friendly voices, overwhelmed
by the static I have tried
to tune out.

It has become the regular routine
of living with myself.
I leave this plane
for a second of silence,
or hours of deafening wails,
and I never know which to brace for.

I am alone when I feel it,
disappearing from my body
just to watch it shut down.