I get lost in the chaos.

I don’t mind it here,

floating through murky currents

until I emerge with algae under my fingernails.

I watch their lips as they speak 

and read their silences like answer keys.

Their hands thrumming instruments as I

uncover the fickle notes to their symphony.

Soon, I’m able to lip-sync lyrics like I didn't just spend 

my nights listening to their music on repeat.

I don’t mind being forgotten,

but sometimes my own existence surprises me

so, when my name unfurls from the tongue like an invitation

I take it with unsteady hands,

grasping my voice as one would a fistful of sand,

dwindling longingly into the grain and noise.

It’s peaceful in my current,

the quiet is almost thick enough 

to swaddle my silence into sense,

my mind assuring my closed lips 

that social abstinence is voluntary.

Caught in the rise and swell of voices,

I am dragged gently,

further below,

tugged into 

the undertow.