Static
There is static in my brain.
I can’t control it.
The frequency knob is broken.
I keep mashing a collection of dingy, formerly white plastic buttons to find the right frequency.
But the buttons stick.
The same static plays.
I push one too hard and it pops back out like a leggo my eggo commercial.
It stays on the same static station.
I try two fingers to mash it down.
But it sticks to the formerly white, now scalded milk-colored button next to it.
My brain heaves.
The sentient machine inside me has taken over.
It calibrates itself to another station of static with a faint baseline and the clattering of broken glass.
Am I the broken glass?
I’m screaming to myself from inside the machine to find my frequency.
But the static has taken over.
I know people want me to change my station.
I see it in their eyes.
I feel their frequency, but it bores me.
My feathers are fully ruffled.
I can’t smooth my mane.
My mind is not slipping sideways.
This static is gnawing my soul down to a sliver.
But then I think I can use my new slivery soul to jab that dingy white button.
