No one heard you when
You broke your own bones one by one
And placed your splintered legs under you arms
Used them as crutches to convince people that you were healing
You wrote the book on destruction without noise
Silence is the only thing louder than a bomb
But your silence was the bomb that annihilated you
And everyone was deaf to it
And everyone was blind to it
And you never corrected them
You hit your hands against the rubble until they were bleeding and broken
Surrounded yourself with the jagged edges of everything you ruined
It’s no wonder you are terrified to touch the living
It’s no wonder people only see you from an arms length
It’s no wonder you remain loveless
You were the one who destroyed yourself
And you know it
Silence is the only thing louder than a bomb
And your silence is deafening
Have you ever noticed how it drives people away
How it drives people away
How you drive people away
Can you even see with those worn old eyes that use to be amber
Can you even feel with that burnt calloused skin
You are trying to put out a house fire with a spray bottle
You are trying to fix a detonated world with hands made of broken bones
Bones you didn’t even try to set
Covered in still drying blood
You didn’t even try to bandage
Is this what you call healing?
Your mind was a massacre
And your silence was louder than a bomb
And your detonation was invisible
Your detonation was invisible
Your detonation was invisible
You are awfully good at hiding
You are awfully good at tearing everything apart
Your world has been shattered
And you walk in the background like everyone else
Unnoticed
You are awfully good at being silent
And your silence is the only thing louder than a bomb
And your silence just wants to be heard

I once heard someone insinuate
That everything is infinite
That the moment something comes to exist
Even if it only exists for a fraction of a second
It becomes a permanent part of this universe
Because before it existed it was always going to exist
And after it dies away it will always have existed
And I think that was really beautiful to me
I love the feeling of infinity
I love the thought of things going forever
Reaching into different directions for eternity
I always loved the idea of eternity
The idea that there is something so big
So constant
So out of reach
That our minds can never really comprehend it
I love the idea that there is always going to be something more
I often say that I want to know everything
Which isn’t entirely true
I want to try and learn as much as I can about this world
And this universe
And this infinity
But more than anything I want to learn about things
People don’t know
I like secrets
I really like secrets
People act like we have this world figured out sometimes
But we never can
Because there is an infinite eternity out there
That our minds can never fully understand
There are things that no one has ever seen
Lives that no one has ever heard
Places that no one has ever been
Secrets hidden in our infinity
I know that I can never really know it all
But god
I sure can try

I've started meditating
Sort of
My throat hurts a lot when I think about it and try and do what i'm supposed to
It hurts now actually
Maybe i'm not breathing right
Or sitting right
Or I could be too dehydrated
But I really like the sound of jasper lake
I hadn’t even know it existed
I just saw it on the list of sounds
And sort of knew
I think its because its called Jasper Lake
The sound is not as loud as I wish it was
But I still like it
The water and the birds
I’m not very good at this whole meditation thing
But I do like white noise a lot
I think after this track ends I’ll try another
Probably one of the rain ones
I do like the lake ones though
They’re pretty and have bird songs
My Friend could maybe even tell me what kind of birds they are
Maybe I’ll show her
Maybe not
I never really know anymore
I think I like writing my thoughts like this
Like a poem
It feels natural
My throat hurts again
So does my chest now
I don’t like that
And I can’t figure it out
It’s upsetting
Actually after this I think I might listen to What Am I?
I’ve been feeling it recently
I wonder where Jasper Lake is
I think I might google it

I think it’s the ordinary that really gets to us
We have to put meaning to the ordinary first of course
Perhaps that's why we call it extraordinary
Our own meaning fused with something that could be everyday
I think that’s the most beautiful way to look at it
I really do
We have to find the beauty ourselves
For it could be anything
Anywhere
And you’ll know it when you see it
It’ll strike you
Throw you for something you thought you’d never see
So incredible you feel you may have disappeared from the world you've known so long
This is a long winded way of saying I found a phoenix
It’s surprising what you can find when you’re not looking
I was so busy try to wrestle overgrown blooms from my lungs
I almost didn’t see the bird flitter down onto the windowsill
Mighty and bold
Soft sparks exploding from every flap of his wings
He’s beautiful
And his song even more so:
Strings of fiery passion
Stories of all he’s heard and seen
And a kindness that runs deep and rampant
Like a river of white flames
And there I sat
Eyes softly weeping amber
Hands covered in dirt and blood reached into my chest
In the process of tearing out flowers that should have never been mine
What an impression to make don’t you think?
I wonder what he must think of me now

I truly think he’s beautiful
And as a bird does
He flies and he wanders
His life is separate than mine
Yet the moments that intertwine are those to behold
His sparks and flames do not hurt
But rather aid small aching joints
That have been too cold for too long
His song radiant and bright
It brings hope to my own soft voice
Humming along tranquilly
Sometimes
I can still see the falter in his wings
Hear the stutter in his song
He tries so hard to hide it
I want to help him
Reach out my hand
But I fear my help is unwanted and burdunous
After taking the plants from my veins
Blooms from my lungs
Cuttinging most roots from my heart
I have been reduced to what I once was:
A small and empty pond
How can a pond reach a hand to a phoenix?
How can something made of water even try and touch something of flame?
Perhaps I am just foolish

I think I’m the only one who can see the phoenix
Rather
I think I’m the only one who can tell he’s a phoenix
I don’t understand how some can look upon him and turn away
How can they not see
The fire
How can they not feel
The heat
How can they not hear
His passion
His stories
His kindness
I’ve started to wonder if he even knows
Does he know?
Does he know what beauty he holds?
This question now plagues my sleep
I wish for him to return, if only for a moment,
To see his reflection
Perhaps a pond can be good for that if nothing else

They call him a sparrow
Which would be fine if they didn’t say it with such disregard
They really cannot see it?
They compare his crimson coat to dust
His passion to ramblings
His fire to wildness
His kindness… can they just not see his kindness?
How can they not?
They call him a sparrow
As if there is nothing to the word
As if there is nothing more
They call him a sparrow yet they do not look upon him
They do not listen
They call him a sparrow
And he believes the way they say it
There is always more
So much more than what they say
I think it’s the ordinary that always gets to us
Beauty can be anywhere
Anyone
If I ever call him a sparrow
It will not be negligent of all I’ve seen
Beauty is in the ordinary
And a sparrow can still be a phoenix