The Screaming

I hear them screaming.

I hear them screaming, but I can't help them. Their fingers fall through mine, and I'm not sure if it was me who let go first or just the sweat on their palms. I hear them screaming, I do, and I want to help them because I can hear every ounce of pain and I can feel so much of it, but I can't help them. I hear them screaming in terror and loneliness and sadness ... I hear them screaming and sometimes I wonder if it’s just me.

I've been told I scream loud enough to deafen ears, and I wonder, if that's true, then why has no one ever had the nerve to show up? Do I scream so loud I kill them? Paralyze them? Scare them? Or is everyone just walking around with earplugs? Are they listening to the sound of their own scream and, like me, think they’re too far gone to help anyone?

These thoughts are my reality and my reality has a piercing vibrato. I write words down on the wall when I can, and I wonder if anyone sees the letters in white sidewalk chalk. Do they see the spray-painted picture of the destruction in my brain?

I wish I could breathe. I wish that the happy world above me was listening or looking down to see that there are chains around my ankles, my wrists, that don't let me swim. I wonder if these chains were gone, would I sink? Would I float up to the surface? I know sure as fuck that I wouldn’t be able to swim. I'm not even sure how I'm still alive except that maybe it has to do with the fact that I don't want to die.

People don't notice it; they might see me in the water and nod, thinking that I'm just down here for fun. They might flash a smile, and I can always tell when it's fake. They might float with their chains next to me and speak, saying meaningless words while trying to pull down their sleeves. It's no use; I can see the scars that the rest can't because while they might think it’s simple, that it's easy to see, no one seems to notice unless they have them too.

My eyes flood with tears that mix into the water. When it rains it feels like I'm finally not the only one crying because the sky is crying too. And my arms, my legs, my hips, they bleed out into the water and it mixes with the tears and it tastes like fire and smells like the cold. The kind that is set on trying to kill you. Does it matter that I'm underwater to my ears? My eyes? I can hear the screaming and I need a minor release, an escape. One that wraps arms around me through voices, or lyrics, or words or simply beautiful sketches. One that sends me to the surface, for a second; it's one that makes the chains looser before I plunge back in, because I was never really out in the first place.

I scream and I hear them screaming with me. I want to help them, but I can't because I can't help myself. I hear them screaming and if I could, I promise I would set them all free. I hear them screaming and I know it's too much to bear; the chains tie us to the bottom, but the truth is, we're not all still here.

Some cut themselves loose and fall under the waves where they can't see or hear the surface because the two don't exist together anymore. Some float up and learn how to swim. Some of them dive back in and unchain The Screaming. Some of us stay chained, screaming, caught between trying to learn to swim again and letting the empty nothingness sink inside instead.

I hear them screaming.

I hear them screaming, and I wish I could help them.