The noise is there before I rise,
A swarm that never stills nor dies,
It claws and scrapes along my skull,
A ceaseless, grinding, dreadful lull.
I try to move, but limbs won’t heed,
Each thought outgrows its simple seed,
They twist and tangle, sharp and loud,
A choking, ever-tightening wound.
The hours rot and slip away,
Unused, decayed, a hollow day,
I watch the world from something numb,
Too lost to speak, too tired to run.
Sleep comes thin and breaks apart,
A fragile stitch in fraying dark,
I reach for rest, it turns to air,
And leaves me heavy with despair.
I am a weight I cannot shift,
A sinking, slow, unending drift,
No silence comes, no clean release -
Just noise that never grants me peace.