My thoughts are composed
of hummingbirds, like the
way my preset radio station
turns to static when I leave
the city limits. I still make
sense of it, but only just.
And I'd rather not, for I'm
prone to migraines, and I'd
rather not have that aura -
the one that warns me I'll
explode with drear and misery,
and those awful hallucinations I
had when I was young. But the
"chh-schh-chhh" drives me insane
enough to cling, to hope that
clarity might find me. I know I
should change the dial to
something local, but the feedback
lingers in my speakers a touch too
long. I'm indecisive; I won't switch
the station, because my favorite
song airs next and the only other
channel I know is NPR. Real.
Familiar. Too lonely. And before
I can suppress it,
I've got this tear
forming in the outer
corner of my left eye. I'm
too exhausted to fight it.
I could U-turn and find
my way back home,
but you see, I told myself
that you'd had your last
chance, because I'm tired of
blinking you away. And,
can't you see? I'm trying
to find a way to tell you
that I'm through with you,
for the static is imprecise
and deafening. The static
has torn my shell to shreds.
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