The ringing will start.
The moment you feel yourself slip away there it is.

It will burrow now.
Further and further down.
Through the walls of thoughts.
Silently passing deeper and deeper until all thats left is you.
Or a shell of you.
And down here, maybe that's what death is like.
Just quiet. Dead quiet.
Down here only the clock of your body can move.
A shell biding time.

Next the ringing will fade up.
Not out.
Like the air from the ground is lifted.
And you've been buried.
And there you are.
At the very bottom.
Way, way down.
You'll wait here awhile.
You'll never know how long.
You'll forget you've been here.
You'll come back.
Soon enough.
But for now this is where you'll stay.
The clock will tick.
The shell remain.
But you, thoughtful you.
You've floated away.
Somewhere off with the ringing.
You wish you knew where you were.
Or how come back.
But you'll never know.
Maybe it's best that way.
Maybe it's better in silence.

The return is the strongest.
It will crush you from above.
Flatten you while keeping you breathing.
The ringing won't ring anymore.
It'll screaming.
Once buried you're ripped from your roots.
Torn from silence you'll soar towards the roof.
You have no choice now.
You're lazy silence is no match.
At the height you'll stop breathing again.
But you're used to that.
Your thoughts are shattered so the screeching is numb.
It won't leave.
But for now at least, you wont notice it.
Distant and bleeding you'll feel the familiar silence or before.
Only now, you have to be alive.