Unrendered

It doesn’t have a start
or an end—

just the hum,
the buzz of your brain
in silence.

Internal electricity.

You try to catch it—
like lightning,
try to sculpt
something:
words,
clay,
paint on a stretcher canvas.

But it doesn’t escape.

The tight grip
on your chest.

Eyes behind eyes.
Screens
before mirrors
before windows.

The buzz in your head
blending
into the melody
of fluorescent lights.