the sweet sound of silence.

There is a sound in my head. 

A pulsing, blue-grey, heavy, soul-dead kind of sound.

 It bolsters and rises and is painfully uncreative, like a blunt-ended knife that has forgotten how to cut. 

It is always there, and no one can hear it except me. 

I cannot live my life to it, because it does not match as a life-beat.

 It does not feel the way a beat for a life should feel. 

It is too dead. 

Sometimes we fumble each other up, the sound in my head and I. 

Sometimes it is so consuming that it drives me crazy for want of quiet, and all I want is for it to stop playing.

And other times the silence screams, and all I want is to hear it, if only for the temporary comfort of familiarity. 

How swift the rise and fall. How ironic.

Sometimes the sound changes. Sometimes it breathes.

Sometimes it sounds like you.

 Then, no matter how blunt the knife, I cannot help but listen and be completely drawn in. 

And I am held captive by this dead sound in my head, that only I can hear.