My Little, Permanent Addiction

The headphones have been glued to my ears so long there’s a permanent dent in my hair. My phone screen glows in the dark at 3:00 AM, scrolling through playlists just to find the exact BPM that matches the anxious thumping in my chest. I can’t even walk to the kitchen anymore without needing a soundtrack just to pour a glass of water. The world is too loud, but the silence is worse. Without a bassline anchoring my feet to the floor, my thoughts start to drift into places I don't want to go. So I drown them out with high hats and heavy distortion, letting someone else’s words swallow up my own until I’m just a shell carrying around a battery pack and a tangled pair of cords. Sometimes I wonder what my own voice sounds like when it’s not trying to harmonize with a stranger’s hook. My friends tell me I'm missing out on the real world, but the real world doesn't have a bridge that hits quite like this. I know it’s a crutch, a beautiful, numbing escape, but as I press play for the hundredth time today, I honestly don't think I want to be cured.