Hum…

Wound so tight I’m vibrating, all my thoughts an electric hum.
Am I still breathing?
Pretty sure I’m still breathing.
Tap, tap, tap the microphone - is this thing on?
​Say my own voices reverberating through the noise.
It’s never quiet in here, we love the quiet,
But we are afraid of silence.
All the versions of myself constantly shifting,
Changing, 
Blurring all the lines.
It’s like grabbing paint by the fists full,
Trying to sling it on the canvas before it escapes,
Dripping through my fingers.
Not sure who thought letting me roam free range,
Was a good idea in the first place.
Who knows where my thoughts will escape to 
Next.