my voice scratches across these lines and wires, desperate to be heard. i save it up, years on end. to speak is to hear pencil shavings pulled apart from the stick, one scritch at a time. i’ve been screaming for so long that i don’t know the difference between a yell and between a whisper. a whisper asking for the help that i so desperately need.

how can i shout my every word from rooftops so high, i sway in the roaring wind, only for there to be silence on the other end?

my voice, once a weapon, now lies rusted and unused. for me to speak is to know that i give in. to speak is for me to let go of that door shoving back the endless things hidden in the closet. to let the tsunami flow over me, create a path of totality.

i stand in the way, let the flood hit me. shove me in every direction. i cannot leave, i cannot speak, i cannot scream, i cannot

b r e a t h e.