There is a scream building.


I feel it,



Every

now

and

then.



A rumble in the pit,
Aching to be heard.

Reaching up my throat; clawing - tearing at my vocal chords.




There is a

scream

building.




Quashed down in the depths of my stomach.
It grows and grows,
Fed forced silence;



The

scream

is

building.




A black, swirling mass of smoke and electricity buzz inside my lungs.

Eyes open, the projection of memories pour over my vision.



It drinks

and I


scream.


© Amelia Tuson