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Ren Mayloft Mar 2016
Words can be loud,
Or as soft as a cloud,
Floating in the air,
Hanging there,
Being received,
To show that I have not been deceived,
Typed words are so much scarier,
No tone,
No way to know,
Just having to go with the flow,
An unsteady go,
Minutes slide by,
I start questioning why,
Silence as water falls from my eyes,
Wondering what was the lie,
Wanting to just know,
Where any of this could have gone,
The answer is no where,
Since I am in the middle of it,
So I'll just sit,
Accepting no response,
There are no words in the air,
No soft words,
Just silence,
The ringing that pierces my ears,
Encasing all my fears,
No clouds besides stormy ones,
And those aren't even visible,
This silence is the invisible kind,
One for myself to find,
Since no one has me in mind,
There is such a small amount of time,
I've stolen enough so I should give up mine,
Which I would be all too glad to share,
Yet none of that is fair,
Why would it be?
There are no soft sounds here,
Just some fear,
And tear after tear.
Ren Mayloft Mar 2016
Tick tock,
Goes the little clock,
Every second has a sound,
And there goes time,
Time that doesn't feel like mine,
Words amplified,
Flaws magnified,
This leaves me quietly terrified,
With my brain nowhere to be found,
Except in the quiet sound,
Of the second hand going around.

— The End —