Where's the fucking silence!?

Half the time
it’s as if another hand
has a grip on a pitch shift
in between my ears

a wail from out the ass crack
of everything & nothing

so much so
at times I
wince
& grab a hold of a tuft of the air
beside my head

or press
a palm to my chest as if to say
I might as well
split my
wing
or faint