I'm listening to strangers in my head. A skipping track on repeat but the resonance is beautiful. Sometimes more familiar voices come winding through my mind visitation most clear on too silent nights and when drugs are coursing through my body thickening my blood and reducing barriers to sludge. Can't run away or towards them just can't get my feet under me or pluck up the courage to crawl. I'm listening to the familiar and the strange again their voices making a soft rumble at times a fanatic crescendo a wave, making and unmaking forms, sandcastles on the beach. They mix in with the daily sounds, the whacking thump of a canine tail on carpet, a professor's voice and chalk moving against a blackboard, the end it's all hard to make out, my mind not-quite-white noise, everyday ricochet, in a million overlays to the point where none supersedes the other long enough to become intelligible.