rusted from the elbow to the finger

it's a battle of two noises.
Each one moving up in scale to be seen above the other
trying to drown the other out.
until they're both s loud as they can go
and no one has won.
All that's left is aching eardrums,
no more room for thoughts
no where to run to find that silence.

I dreamt we were all going to die.
And I was the only one who knew.
I was so afraid, in the beginning,
but near the end I'd come to grips with it.
There's freedom in acceptance.

I don't know what I'm saying anymore.
I'm in one of those moods.