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missanthrope Apr 19
it’s overcast in Depression Valley.
an overhang of overweight clouds,
condensing within the soft folds of the psyche,
blocking the sun;
blocking the prospect of better or beyond.

abnormally swollen and pregnant —
they should burst and hail any moment
but today they are dumb, stagnant.

the resident automaton,
he pushes on

makes plans, with buds
feeds ducks, with nuts
drinks in Beethoven sonatas from the page —
the late ones deliciously well-aged.

but it’s just so mountainous.
he wears a joyless countenance
he bears the hopeless knowledge:
there’s no climbing out from Depression Valley.

a dear friend gently asks:
why not, automaton, why?

why, why, why:
is there a why to weather?
there is no cause, no invent.

in Depression Valley
there is a moratorium
on explanation,
on expression

the surrounding mountains are frozen, lush.
gently, with ne’er a rush,
they fold him into their ridges.

he gradually becomes the weather, joins
the chorus of mutes, eternally  
cast over Depression Valley.
Sean Achilleos Sep 2021
I autopilot can pretend
I autopilot can feel
I may go about my chores
I may go unnoticed
Punctual is my middle name
But can you see what I feel
And can you feel what I see
Do you know what lies beneath the surface
You who are of many words
I could make you laugh
I could make you feel great
I could even cause myself to lose
To enable you to win
Deep within myself I hide
I dream of better days to come
I autopilot remain on mute throughout the days
I speak only when spoken to
I watch the moving of the trees from my favourite window in my home
And I dream ... simply dream ... just dream
sean achilleos
2021-09-03
Maja Aug 2021
barely a meter away
i can hear them
so why can’t they hear me
i can see them
so why can’t they see me
it’s like i’m invisible
it’s like i’m mute
in reality
i’m just me
and they are just them
and we are close
but we’re a world
of friends away
L May 2021
God did not mean to give me a mouth.
He meant to give me hands, eyes, a heart
but not a mouth.
When I speak something in me bleeds. When I-
I speak, and my eyes fog over like glass.  
I can't see you standing there, I'm so sorry. Show me again, where did you put the bread?  

I feel like a thing that needs to be forgiven.

I feel so fragile sometimes.
I am trying to understand the
weight of the evil inflicted upon me.
It is heavy. I never understood that 'till now.

I wasn't meant to carry this weight, but I do.
I wasn't meant to speak the way I
so often will, but I do.

What can I say anymore?
I can't write without bleeding. I can't speak without knowing it is a wound. How can I communicate without tearing something open? I'm afraid of shutting up and looking for my language. If I decide to leave behind every word that hurts me, would I have any words left? Will it **** the little bit of connection with people I have left?

Listen.
I hope you forgive me for the little sadness I'll inspire in you.
I am afraid, but don't pity me. I am blossoming and becoming something else.
This, apotheosis, this becoming closer and closer to my own light.
It is a process that requires allowing death.
What must die must die. Allow grief.

I'll leave you with this:
If you slept next to me, it would be
much like sleeping with a letter under your pillow.
Every night, every night...

*"Here I write to you a list of cruelties I am capable of.
May you never forget:
I have made the flower so that it may blossom, and I have made the lamb so that it may eat it.
Blessed be the one willing to become.
Here, the flower. Here, the lamb."

- God
Delyla Nunez Dec 2020
She doesn’t confess her feelings,
Her thoughts,
Or likes to even converse.

It’s not like she doesn’t try,
She can write it, speak it, and some times scream it.
But still she is dismissed.

Never actually heard.
Never truly seen.
Never to speak again.

So she’ll sit there,
Fake a smile and make agreement noise here and there.
But no one will hear her voice, because now she’s silent.
When she speaks it’s just a busted record.
BethMaria Dec 2020
humans are the most pathetic species on earth,
they have no content;
no happiness,
no compromise,
no nothing.
so they ruin things over and over
and try to make themselves feel good by bragging about there misfortune,
and people pity them
when actually the ones who suffer the most are the ones who stay silent because they aren't allowed to talk.
Poolza Aug 2020
The blind speaks words of wisdom
but the deaf cannot hear

The deaf asks the man a question
but the mute cannot speak

The mute signs to the blind
but the blind cannot see.
idk
Aurianna Aug 2020
If my hands were numb to your touch,
and my eyes were blind to your affection,
I would still compose love letters for you with my lips.
For I could never piece together,
the perfect words that express truly how much
I care for you.
So instead I speak in tongue.
Breathlessly sliding my mouth in and out of yours,
like the pause in between a sentence.
You're a book I don't want to put down.
i write to express myself in a way i could never speak with my mouth
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