What It Becomes

Andy Mercer

It starts buzzing,

Dull, faint.

So low that you don’t notice,

But your subconscious has,

Taking note of the disturbance.

It starts to grow,

Fed by ignorance.

The longer it’s allowed to stay,

The volume begins to climb.

You try to ignore it, hoping it fades.

It starts to surround you.

You let it persist,

Because doing nothing is easier.

But as it builds its walls around you,

Trapping you in its permanency,

You start to panic.

Is this what I am?

Do I allow this in my mind?

The indecision is overwhelming.

You start to struggle,

The buzzing surrounding you everywhere now.

The walls follow you, blocking you from seeing truth.

Your anxiety kicks in and you start to dig.

Bare hands scraping through the dirt.

The deeper you dig, the soil becomes soft,

Easier to grasp and the process quickens.

Your hands are raw,

The mud shoved under your nails.

But it’s working.

The buzzing is fading.

You keep going.

Sweat pouring from your face,

Clean streaks navigating their way through the clay on your hands.

You’ve gone as far as you can go.

The worms poking their bodies through to daylight,

Unaffected by the noise.

You climb to the top,

Grasping for the dirt you cleared.

Pulling it on top,

You surround yourself with the loose soil.

And eventually, it becomes silent,

As you’ve buried yourself deep down

Where the buzzing cannot find you.

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