the mind is a dreadful thing

the music rages unevenly in my head, day in, day out. they tell me to ignore it, that my imagination is just overflowing with clever ideas from a clever mind. it’s nothing, they claim. just don’t engage it and it will disappear, they advise, but how do i know who’s real when my heart is beating too loudly in my ears, first one, then the other?

i ask them if i should be concerned whilst i ignore it, but they don’t answer, just scribble more loops of ink on seals of fate. the scratch on paper mingles with the notes in my head, chicken scratchscrachscratching out thoughts. i look at my arms and wonder if thoughts leave physical marks that scream. day in, day out, the voices fade in, fade out.

cure this cancer of thoughts in my head, pretty please, i beg. i find tape and peer beneath but i can’t see more of myself than i did before and feathers keep falling out, and how do you get to heaven without wings to fly? you can’t kill the bandages that hold you together but i still try to tear them off.

i want to scream but it’s always there. but they told me it’s nothing, so nothing is inside my head, coming out my ears and devouring individuality and my soul needs stitches but i lost the money to buy the string under my bed. the monsters that live there like to sing, their tuneless howls echoing for hours and hours, and i try to grow claws like they have and tear at their skin like they do mine, but i keep cutting my nails too short and the blood smears the doctor’s paper. day in, day out, this little escapade of mine isn’t fun anymore.

i found rope in my closet and was curious as to why i had so many shadows hanging there. they seem to like it inside, like making caves in the dresses that rain from their hangers at night and burrow in the pit of my stomach for a good night’s sleep while i hold up the ceiling. i don’t like putting objects back where they go because who knows if they like being crumpled and torn after all. maybe i do too, deep down.

so day in, day out, the sounds of swishing fabric and screams add to the soundtrack, a constant nothing back there, and i try to ignore it but how do you ignore a crushing silence of noise?

sometimes i wonder what time night peeks its face at people, because all i know is day and open eyes wide and music and nothing. all i know is nothing, and when i tell the doctors that my blood doesn’t like to squeeze out between stone anymore and that i lost my wings, they tell me that i am correct.

it’s nothing.