My biggest talent is knowing every sound a can makes
not a can of corn
not an oil can
my specialty lies within an adjacent branch of cans
the prized and heavily sought after: beer cans
I know every sound a beer can makes
the scratchy wet noise when it's opened
it makes me think of being thirsty
like that satifised feeling of drinking something cold
the percussive gulps chugging it down
down down down
to poison your body
your life and everyone you know
the way the can hits the wood of the table
hollow and empty
the sound echoes in my chest
a dull thud replaying over and over again
I wish it would stop replaying
this is the soundtrack of my existence
well, maybe not the whole soundtrack
but in almost all the songs
it's there
in the crackle
in the white noise beneath the lyrics and the melodies
it was my lullaby as a child
behind my parents yelling
living next to my mother's tears
not so loud and not as much
just a tinkling in my ears
like the buzzing of a fluoresent light on the ceiling
noticed and unnoticed
ignored
masked and sated with barbies and card games with my sister
it was the song in the other room when I hit puberty
where you can hear the muffled beat and half of the lyrics
but the rhythm is tense
the violins playing, screeching because the villain is behind you
ready to stab your gut and slash your eyes until they run with blood
it is the song that sets your heart pounding with rage
you are just a teen but you have learned that pots can boil over
you have tasted some of the worst thoughts so young
the taste made you recoil like a gun
the blast leaving your tongue wet and bitter
now it is the concert next to me
a cacophony of guitars and drums, demanding to be noticed
so loud my eardrums vibrate and shake
my ribcage is a rattle and my hands are aftershocks
and now it's a task to ignore it
to bite my tongue so hard it bleeds
swallow the blood
add it to my bitter collection
swallow it all down
down down down
to poison your mind
what right do I have to say anything?
it only affects me completely
I am an adult
I am a child
my thoughts and feelings matter
my thoughts and feelings do not matter
the virus has contaminated everything
not a virus, exactly
a disease
why are we not good enough?
why am I never enough?
my soundtrack is a bag of empty
crushed
beer cans
loud and unstable
jostling and deafening
void and cold
just like me.
