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.