Sonique Hear My Cry File

I call you from the blown speaker of an abandoned club, where dust motes dance to a song no one plays anymore. I call you from the space between radio stations, where static hums your true name.

Sonique, you who live between the struck bell and the fading ring, between the needle’s drop and the vinyl’s hiss — hear my cry. sonique hear my cry

The world has gone mute in its shouting. Tongues rattle like dry seeds. But you — you speak in waveforms, in sub-bass that loosens the ribs, in frequencies that bypass the ear and settle straight in the marrow. I call you from the blown speaker of

Hear me: I have forgotten how to feel without a beat. My joy has become a diagram. My grief, a silent film. The world has gone mute in its shouting

Sonique, hear my cry.