noise by Deb Richardson

There is no signal.
Signal fades to noise becomes whitenoise.

I remember this feeling when I was a child and my child's mind filtered
the sounds of fighting and screaming and throwing things in the other
room, filtered and faded and turned that signal that fucking signal
that too much fucking signal into blurred whitenoise blurred by my own
mind sheltering me from that too much fucking signal.

I flail blindly trying to find a place or space or feeling that I can call
home.

YES it's too much.  YES I go too far.  I have grown tired of living in the
grey area between.  What for a hammer with which to smash these walls into
mirror shards and dust.

I shut down when I care too much.  Signal becomes noise becomes whitenoise
and I cast around for an escape route to a new strange land called home.