Sensory Overload

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The hum of the fluorescent tube is a dentist's drill. The texture of the tags on my collar is a sandpaper wrap. The overlapping voices in the coffee shop are a tidal wave of static. You see me quiet, standing still, But inside the CPU is melting, Running hot at 100% capacity, Trying to compute the height of the ceiling While translating your social pleasantries. Be kind. My silence isn't absence. It is active cooling.