Sonique Hear: My Cry

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.

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 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. Sonique, you who live between the struck bell