zom.

I shuffle down cold abandoned halls at night.

It is silent, but I feel as if the noise around me is overpowering.

Every insignificant sound echoes through me, scraping against my skin, painfully lingering until I wince in disapproval.

The cold cement beneath my feet, the only sense of being grounded I feel tonight.

Otherwise it is as if I am floating, like the waking dead, attempting to transverse this plane to the next.

But the sounds.

The sounds keep me here.

Hold me hostage on this seemingly infinite struggle of hostility.

The sounds.

They saunter about in a failed attempt to placate me.

Only reinforcing my resistance to the system.

Or the system reinforcing my resistance to the sound, perhaps.

Either way you look at it.