hummmm-

its there in her head, never ending, tonedeaf, dead
it buzzes without pause
it dims the yellow sneaking out of the small lamp by the side of her twin bed

on it she sits wearing nothing but covers, and the one bracelet made by her lover
it is silence, but it is so loud
the digital 2-4-2 stares at her as it has for what seems like hours

is it in her head, beneath her matted hair?
or outside behind the dark curtains?

with every bit that still exists, she shuts her eyes to sleep, counting each and every awkward sheep
if boredom has a voice
it is here now with a hum, talking from the deep