A person lies awake at 7 am, and the only thing happening around them is calm: soft, gentle music in the background. The poem is built on that mismatch. The room is peaceful, but the speaker's mind is not. They are questioning "everything / and everyone," which suggests a restless kind of doubt that doesn't settle on any one problem and spreads to anything it touches.
The title, "Intensity," and the subtitle, "Screaming," tell us what the gentle surface hides. Nothing in the setting is loud, so the screaming has to be internal. The short, broken lines work like a train of thought that keeps slipping lower, ending on "Drowning," which is a strong word for something as ordinary as lying in bed. The mood is heavy, tired and a little trapped. The speaker doesn't look for an answer or a way out. The poem simply stays in that moment, where soothing music can't quiet an overwhelmed mind.