I woke up to cheeping birds at last
The relentless patter on my window silenced. 

That drizzling melody once so precious
A gentle invitation to indulge in idleness
After thirty days transmuted
Into hounding humming greys. Incessant rain.

Since the last full moon unabating
Each drop, a rat feeding off my brain. My ears
Were bleeding my heart was pounding
To an insidious rhythm arousing 

Murderous impulses pulsating
Through my nerves and veins.

Who would be blamed? Me or the ceaseless rain?
Would the judge understand my defence?
Would the jury empathise with my condition?
Would my jailer ask for silence when I need it?

On day twentynine I did everything I could
To quell the delirium, suppress my instincts,
Repress my surreptitious pain. Smiled,
Spoke to no one, did not tap on the keyboard,

Avoided crackers, sent my kids to another room
To eat their crunchy biscuits, served solely
Quiet foods, took no shower, dismissed
The knocking on my door, unplugged the TV.

The neighbours began hammering and drilling
(Heaven only knows what they were building!)
I went to bed, hid under the covers, until
Finally this morning, a little mercy,

I woke up to cheeping birds.

[Featured illustration: On Misophonia]