The voices in my head are like little birds perched on the roof eaves, warbling discordant melodies. The chittering in my brain is incessant
The nonsense pouring out ricochets around the attic rafters, rolling off the shingles through the gaping mouths of gargoyles as so much gurgling noise.
Undamnedable, the cascade of words flood over me, washing away reason and wit, leaving me to babble inharmoniously with the birds.
Random thoughts, pool at my feet, coalescing into stories that ripple out eternally. The words cease only when the Mission Tiles slide from the roof ridge and fall on my head.
Curséd birds!
Thin spiral notebook 
At the heart of this, reading it, all I heard was muttering. Trying to get those words out (much like I’ve been feeling for far too long)
“Cursed birds!” – I loved that.
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Love it, though terrifying. I am holding on for dear life with that flood of words, and now I have to worry about things falling out of the sky. 🙂
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Madness…art…concussion. Love the moving yet amusing juxtaposition.
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Ha! I love this. It gives me a new, elegant way to think about the constant sound in my head (tinnitus). I owe you for this. 🙂
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