Isn't it incessant!?
That tick tick ticking within the walls of my skull.
It will count me down, entrap me in my own noise,
So thunderous!
And I can only pray for release,
Into dullness.

Why must my tired pupils notice everything!?
They rebell against me, despite my pleas to sheen over,
Ignore,
Shut tight and,
Let peace wash me away!

Together, they assault me with experience,
And I am shoved in a wedge of darkness,
To beg for tranquility in vain.

The constant thoughts turning over,
And eyes which take in light...
This proof that I am living,
It is my agony.

To me, I'm Schrodinger's Cat,
A peculiar feeling at that.
Both alive and dead,
My heart rate is sped,
But inside, well, it seems I am flat.

I yearn for Silence every day,
Otherwise brimming with the noise
Of all those expectations.

How euphoric it is to sit in quiet,
With my tea cup,
The stack of letters laying ignored to my left,
And be in that liberating solitude.

To watch the wind rustle through the rosemary *** on the porch,
And be utterly nothing
But myself.

There is no pantomime in the stillness,
No role to play in tranquility.
Shirk your persona!
Unshackle that heavy façade!
In the darkness we all release that sigh of relief,
Satisfied by the invisibility,

By the absence of another.