I was constantly experiencing lethologica — that haunting silence
between thought and speech,
where meaning exists
but refuses to take form.
I’ve been dreaming on clarity
but choking in hesitation.
I’ve been haunted.
Not like this.
Might I wonder upon a star or will dust be the end of me?
I’ve been doubtful —
the voice of echoing disdain.
If words can be hollow, pious, and true,
then mine tremble somewhere in between.
A galaxy of half-spoken words spinning in endless orbit.
Which of mine survive the silence?
Might they find me again —
the pieces I left scattered.
To heal the echoing wreckage
Might they find me again —
fragments trembling on the edge of thought.
A different kind of silence
courses through me.
I’ve been haunted.
Not like this.
Nov 5, 2025
Nov 5, 2025 at 10:07 PM UTC
I was constantly experiencing lethologica — that haunting silence
between thought and speech,
where meaning exists
but refuses to take form.
I’ve been dreaming on clarity
but choking in hesitation.
I’ve been haunted.
Not like this.
Might I wonder upon a star or will dust be the end of me?
I’ve been doubtful —
the voice of echoing disdain.
If words can be hollow, pious, and true,
then mine tremble somewhere in between.
A galaxy of half-spoken words spinning in endless orbit.
Which of mine survive the silence?
Might they find me again —
the pieces I left scattered.
To heal the echoing wreckage
Might they find me again —
fragments trembling on the edge of thought.
A different kind of silence
courses through me.
I’ve been haunted.
Not like this.
