There is a ringing, a pitch unheard,
it stays between my ears to squirm
inside my head. Unnerving consequence
of a lucid mind. Slowed thought
like thinking through peanut butter,
and suspended emotions, but
I’d run from feeling, but instead
crave the social enigma that stays lost
Volunteer for functions I don’t quite
understand or feel welcome at,
fail at small-talk,
be told to go relax.
Much of my day passes through
a spectrum of confusion,
undertones of inadequacy.
Is a sound mind to be thus polluted?
If only slowed, my feelings are still
what they were, no evidence of change.
I abhor the slowness of each sour note,
once at a pace I danced to,
now I struggle to crawl
out of bed again.
There is no end to this ringing.
It opens every cell in a split moment
of roiling pain and guilt.
I tamper with my wording again
and again, to no avail.
Sound convoluted in one sentence,
and disjointed in the other.
How many times to revise,
and make better something I didn’t
do correctly in the beginning.
Attoning as a life-long pursuit.