Static Humming

It’s been two days, a low-grade drill

behind my eyes. The band was shrill,

the cheap beer warm, the crowd a blur,

and now this hum, a faint demure

but constant whine, won’t let me be.

I made some toast. The kitchen light,

that sickly yellow, made it bite

into the sound, a static taste.

My words come out, then dissipate

before they hit the empty air.

Like walking underwater, slow,

where every sound is dragged and low.

I tried to read, the lines just swim.

This tiny engine, deep within,

keeps turning, turning, makes me numb.