Ever since I found a way to squeeze the sound, to make it less than what it wants to be, I press my tongue against my top left canine tooth and hold it there. It feels like a fang. A loaded weapon taking up space in a body with no taste for violence. Sharp enough to bite through bone, but it won't draw blood from the moist pink tissue that calls its name.
I touch it, taste the cold nothing it gives, and it calms me. Lets me know I'm still here.
My heart is inside a dying animal. It bulges like angry gum tissue working hard to hide a remnant of food that's made its bed between two teeth too tired to offer any comfort. The pain is such a small thing it almost isn't there. I touch the source of all I am, and the silence is louder than anything I've ever heard.
So fill it up with noise.