When every sound
seems to pound
in my ears,

when music is noise
and the sound of my voice
is my fear

then I choke on my breath
and I beg for my death
and I flee

to some silent place
where there's nothing to face
except me,

alone in my head
alone with the dread
of what I

will hear in my mind
what I can't leave behind
till I die.

So there's nowhere to run
but I need to be done
with this life.

I have one escape planned
all I need is one hand
and one knife.