Sound

I have no idea what the purpose of this poem is.
Sorry if it's no good, I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote it.

Shrill cries,
Overwhelming
Washing over you,
Like a wave
Nails on a chalkboard.

Travels.
Fills the space left by the silence.
Resonates,
Through your soul

Gripping,
Like a vice
Tingling body
Blood pounding
Through your ears.
Heart stops; before
resuming; hesitantly.

It is often the smallest birds
Who have the shrillest cries.

The End

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