Too Loud to Hear, Too Quiet to Ignore

It’s hardly even late as I drive home, but it’s late enough to admit the loneliness of the road. The stark solitude of drawn out teleportation. My pieces dissembling in the nighttime movement, I travel like television signal, scrambled, my consciousness clinging to the parts that make up me.

I have no reason to weep. I’ve drowned out reasons in noise, and speed, and darkness. It’s like the wind, bellowing through the windows, is driving tears from my eyes; only, the windows are closed. An open window would let everything out. Then, I think, I would really weep, when the nighttime is allowed to reach in and touch me.

I cocoon myself, I wrap myself up in a blanket of sound, where the music is too loud to hear and my thoughts are too quiet to ignore.