Manic

Manic
by Tilok Adnan

My brain is louder than my speaker
There is no volume control.
Only when the music fades
Or late night baritones begin their shows
Or the transmission is too short in length
To reach the undesired location I reside to
Do I feel that my world is vast, at war, and decaying.

Living, to many, means to make the most in mirth
To see, to travel, to sex, to dance, to revel.
Would they know how to navigate
     the crowded ballroom inside me;
Would they know to leave when their partners have gone?
Would they know if it weren't a dance floor anymore,
Misshapen street views, dark forests, or aquatic depths instead?
Would they know that I live every day
     living with a manic inside my head?