These sound proof headphones made for a silent world save for my own bleeding thoughts. But even the drips of my blood were nothing but a hum in the wind, a singular drop of rain in a storm. A warded world silent and a stage for my own bloodied and lethal mind, more dangerous than a nuclear weapon. Thoughts woven with daggers and knives and wishes spelled by the devil himself.
My voice was a sealed envelope, the words inside of it buried. The wind, soundless, was nothing but a caressing dampness around my fingertips that were draped from my car’s gaping window. Only accompanied by my own faint breaths laced with nightmares and violent daydreams. I could feel the faint reverberations of my composed breath, circling my lungs and loosening, but no sound came from it. And then the wind, utter silence, but a crisp grip around my skin, a sister to the one of better times. But silent.
I walked along the boardwalk a loom of coastal trees, saffron sand, and draping, eerie lichen of sage greens and pale blues. Yet, the clouds churned with a concealing mist, and nothing but a shivering white blanket hovered above me, before me, or behind me. I blindly padded along the boardwalk, rock scuffed shoes weighted against every slab of creaking wood, but their shift was nothing more than a whiff of air. Even bird’s songs were a silent memory of yesterday’s and the ocean’s waves were nothing but a written description in a book. Soundless and diluted. Without a noise, I laid down on a stone bench to my right beneath a circle of live oak trees. A grove that escaped that sea misted blanket, but couldn’t escape me and my daggers.
The stone beat into my back with biting icy reality and a kick to my lungs, loosing a weighted breath, but still buttoned up silence. Live oak branches, more alive than me though, swayed with vitality and greeting, deriding my consuming battles. And my eyes, which fought swinging exhaustion laced eyelids, studied the tongue-tied world with reticence as my shadow of grief and loneliness painted the ground before me in more darkness.
I loosed another muted breath when my thoughts dug their razor sharp, skin caked, claws down my surrendering insides. Another dagger, and then a cold tear.
Adjourning the wetness that glossed over my cheeks, a friable leaf fell upon my skin, tickling the tip of my nose for a short second and nothing more. And then the smell of the ocean stroked my skin with its damp mist. But then all feelings had gone, they followed the sound of oblivion now and it was only me and those trees. Two beating hearts. Two hours later. And then two more. There was no getting up– because there was no bottom, only more blood to bleed and more silence to illusify the world into oblivion.