Butterflies in Caves

I sometimes scream
without producing a sound
still hearing myself so loud it hurts.

I can easily picture it passing over fields and forests
producing a thunderstorm
or a hurricane
somewhere far away
on a different continent.

I feel guilty watching weather forecasts in languages I don’t understand.

It’s an echo from a void
in my center
eating me up from the inside
and spitting me out again
as a deafening noise that only I can hear.

It sounds like the grinding of giant ceramic jaws.
It sounds like a dragon’s nails on a blackboard the size of a mountain.
It sounds like a butterfly flapping its wings in a cave.

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