High whine oscillating as I sit upon a throne
My legs beginning to go numb
I already could not leave
Being not yet done with what needed doing
And it becomes harder to stand
Continuing whine
Its source glimpsed fleetingly
Moving into shadow and being lost
Were my hearing better
Perhaps I could track it thence alone
But it is not
Pounding takes its toll
Sometimes
My hands are quick enough to quash the whining
Pressing upon its source until it bursts
But sometimes is not often enough
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