Still here

Still here.

That thin, bright wire pulled taut

behind my eyes, a frequency

only dogs or ghosts might hear.

The world outside feels cotton-packed,

the clatter of spoons on ceramic,

the low hum of the fridge,

all pressed down, thick, slow.

But the wire keeps vibrating,

a tiny, insistent motor

driving a sound that isn't sound,

just the ghost of too much noise.

Like something left on,

long after the power went out.

It won't shut off.

Not yet.