you whisper against my skin and I look down at the cave that’s in my chest, gaping and dark and bottomless, shouts echoing off the walls. you never let me rest, tapping and tapping at the insides of my skull. an isolated night heaves up in front of me, motionless and quiet and all the while, tapping and tapping. I can’t eat for the sound, can’t sleep, but I listen and stare as shapes and seconds shift by and fog rolls into my eyes. tides rise and break in my stomach, swells crashing over my eyelids, threatening to escape my mouth.