It is the sounds
the sounds which surround,
that fill my brain
with mild and quick adrenaline
the sounds which fuel my desire
for change.

I lie awake in my bed
next to my wife
listening to every exhale
this city takes

will you not quiet your anguish?

now silence devours the space
and the more sinister sounds
begin to echo in tandem
within the chambers of my brain
these sounds bounce on pogo sticks
Covered in knives
Beckoning my ears to listen

My eyes bleed so I wipe them
My hands are bloody now.

 h west (they/them) is an inconsistent writer and mostly abstract/surrealist painter living with two cats, one dog and one wife in Los Angeles, CA. 

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