Alarm clock goes off.

Depressed sigh.

Bones creak upon rising.

Tired groan.

Stub my toe - the little one.

Muffled grunt

Head to the kitchen.

Tuneless hum.

Open the cupboard.

Chirpy whistle

There is no coffee.

Blood-curdling scream.

As the voices around me grow louder

And the voices inside continue their noise

I wish to clamp my hands around the flaps of my ears

And

S

C

R

E

A

M

I turn the music louder

But it just cannot drown the noise

My heart starts beating faster

And anxiety leaves me ready to

s

c

r

e

a

m

Inside the crumbling walls of my heart

My fists crash into the stone

Turning the rocks into

Punching bags

But,

What's the use

For even when I finish

All that's left to do is for me to

S

C

R

E

A

M

O

U

T

L

O

U

D

Well...Out loud in my heart...

Never will people get to hear my anguished screams;

the volume that it reaches in the darkest crevices of my soul

Always, it's only inside that I

scream

When your soul

d

r

o

p

s

and your sighs no longer capture

the entirety of the

chaos

of

inside

and the fear that catches

your heart

in an iron net

slices deep and

deeper

and the paranoia that is

ice

eyes wide

lips dry

smile cracking across

a face that is all porcelain

and when your soul

d

r

o

p

s

because your thoughts no longer make

sense

and you are both

prisoner

and

cage

and

nobody

listens

for you are all alone

a statue without

a hurricane within

and nobody knows it

for you are silent

without

but you are SCREAMING

within

i stretch my mouth wide

beg for words

but all that comes out

is one syllable,

drawn out in an O of pain

i screeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaam

stretching out the words

because i don't know what they

meeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaan.

i scream and scream but it means nothing

if a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound?

if i scream in my head, is it even real?

i don't know what's real.

i scream and scream and scream

but do i make a sound?

am i real?

or is my voice a line of code

on a faraway screen,

a brain in a jar,

a sentence in a book that has never been written

and never will be.

am i real?

i don't know.

and so i scream.

Where am I?

Standing on a wooden walkway, beside a wooden railing which separates me from the ceaseless water. But where does this lead? Am I on a pier or a walking along a bridge?

Some distance behind me, two figures lurk in shadow. Cowboys, by the shape of their hats. Why do they linger so? I cannot tell if they are looking at me or if they face away, looking out to the roiling ocean. Have they come from the two boats which rest on the water, out by a circle in the sea? Perhaps that lighter shade of sea is a whirlpool and the strangers gape in mesmerised frustration as their vessels are being pulled inexorably to the watery depths.

Beyond the doomed boats, the horizon rises in curves to meet a bizarre sky. Streaks of orange and yellow and crimson undulate, hiding the sun in an attempt to disguise the eye I know is watching me. An eye free of pupil and iris, yet still it bears witness to my terror.

For all of these reasons, and for myriad others, I have to loose my feelings with non-verbal emotion. I place my long hands beside my face, clutching my misshapen head from chin to bald head. The roundness of my blank eyes match the circle of my mouth as my body ripples and I…