Silence—
like plunging my body into freezing waters,
sinking to the ocean floor,
where the dark, murky current swirls around me,
blinding, suffocating.
I scream—scream so loud—
but all you hear is silence.

Silence—
a concrete room with chained steel doors,
hidden in the belly of an abandoned building.
I pound on the walls,
scratch at the floor until my nails bleed,
screaming—begging—
Please, find me. Please, find me.
But there’s no one left to listen,
and all you hear is silence.

Silence—
a grave I dug trying to love you in all the wrong ways.
Buried alive beneath the weight of my own faults,
lungs filling with dirt,
mouth muddied with the taste of regret.
I gasp for breath,
screaming help, screaming I’m sorry—
until there’s nothing left but surrender,
and all you hear is silence.

Silence—
settling into my bones,
seeping into my flesh until it no longer feels my own.
I recognize the walls around me,
but this is not my life, not my home.
This is everything I know, yet do not know.
Every bone aches with a hollow pain—
too fragile to move.
If I do, I break.

Silent tears fall into my sheets,
pooling into the mattress where you never sleep.
What is this darkness in the space you used to hold?
A hollow cave inside my chest that echoes your screaming words—
I hate you. I hate you.
But I can still feel my love.

So I lay here in silence,
under covers that are too thin,
but heavy, weighed down by you.
Paralyzed.
Mute.
Words screaming in my head—silent, unheard—
words you will never hear.

And you will sleep soundly,
while my broken heart shatters deafening my ears,
and all you hear is silence.