Processing sound

I'm stuck in an a style of instrumental thought with electronic textures and no persistent beat.

Now I listen and brood, to be alone with my thoughts without the distraction of words.

Here is a string of words, struggling to describe the lack of words, because words are the only medium I can use and the lack there-of is sometimes the only medium I understand.

I'm bleeding and you're a vampire, feeding off my pain.

You are the empty spaces between galaxy filaments, you are void of sympathy.

You are gas and I am a spark.

You scrape against my skull, breath like knives and daggers.

Noise surrounds me, inescapable and unwelcomed.

I have to listen, because I have you.

But I can only prefer temporary pain over uncertain eternity.