A mighty roar
Shakes the Earth
Mother Nature
Has given birth

A new storm
Powerful and strong
Lightning like spears
Thunder like a gong

It ushers in an
Era of fear
The clouds keep coming
And the sun decided to dissapear

The echoes of the mind,
reverberate like bells,
across the empty, endless halls.

The corridors of memory,
containing pain and ecstasy,
pervade the emptiness,
within the noiseless forest.

An unending passage,
an unceasing path.
The uneasy silence that accompanies us.

Thus we thrive in noise,
dance and song,
never once remembering,
where it went wrong.

Occupying our minds,
with past and future things,
wasting the present and all that is,
what's left is nothing, simply this.

We cry in pain,
we cry in sorrow.
We feel the anguish that comes with tomorrow.

We feel the sadness and pent up regret,
and all the things that we left repressed.

Alone with nothing but thoughts in mind,
we forget the peace that's within our mind.
Between what's familiar and what is unknown,
we neglect the latter for a pain well known.

So what is the meaning, what is the point,
of choosing a noise, for which none would rejoice?
I empty my mind, I abandon my wish,
I simply relax, in what simply is.

For within noise is silence, within darkness a day,
hidden behind a curtain which may,
conceal a truth, or reveal a light.
It is your choice, will you stand and fight?

I crave the comfort of white noise.
When I fall asleep every night, my box fan carries me as I drift off.
Its blades spin up and its humming fills my room
Like a sweet lullaby leading me off to a silent world.
I used to play albums off of an old CD player:
Anything to block out the whispers inside of my head,
Anything to keep me away from my thoughts.
During the day, when there’s no fan to keep me safe
I turn to the comfort of music:
Pop a headphone in and my feelings melt away.
It keeps me focused, but in a way, it’s my distraction too:
The kind that fills my head with lyrics instead of questions.

Questions.
Endless questions.
They’re the white noise inside my head the rest of time.
They’re the bullies and I’m their victim
But there’s no one else around to save me from their violence:
They beat me till I’m ****** and bruised
Mind sliced raw from their attacks,
What are you doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do you even bother?
Beating into my weakened defenses
They kick me especially when I’m down.
They gang up inside my head, doubling, tripling
Until they’re a chorus of white noise echoing off the walls.
They keep me locked up
In a cell with nothing but a bed made of broken glass
And a small fan in the corner,
Humming me to sleep every night
Because my room can offer me no other comforts.
I feel the questions just outside of my cell,
And I hide from them because there’s nowhere to run:
I’m a prisoner pressed into the furthest wall
As they taunt me from the other side of the bars I’ve built.
Why can’t you be happy?
Or normal?
Why don’t you just go away for a while?
Maybe forever?
I plead with them to stop their screaming
So they laugh at me instead,
A high pitched squeal that makes my hair stand on end,
My body tenses up, my ears start to ring.
And suddenly they’re something else entirely
The faces of my friends appear cackling
Questions spilling from their mouths:
Are we just pretending?
Do we really hate you?
What makes you think we care about you?
How do you know it isn’t just an act?
Their laughter surges in my mind
Like a sickening joke that makes my stomach turn,
And the white noise grows ever louder.
Even when the fan starts to takes their place,
Masking their white noise,
One finds its way in
To plant its seed of doubt
On the edge of my subconscious
As I begin to drift to sleep:
Are you just pretending?

I feel my breathing seize
Because suddenly I wonder if any of this is true,
Or if I’ve created a false reality for attention.
The thought seeps into my mind like poison
Whispering to me that I can’t even trust myself,
Tearing down every defense I’d built
Brick by brick
Until I’m curled up in a pile of tear stained rubble,
Knees bruised purple and yellow,
Lips chewed ****** and raw,
Eyes swollen red and glistening wet.
What’s wrong with me?
Am I hopeless?
Cause it feels like I’m spiraling out of control
Losing my sense of self to the endless tide of worry
And I’m not sure how to stop it.
So I begin to ask myself
What am I doing here?
What’s the point?
Why do I even bother?

Because I can’t tell what the truth is anymore
If my fan keeps the questions out,
Or if I’m so used to them;
I crave the comfort of their
White noise.

Raw thoughts, yeah?
Nah, not today, man
Too bad, I was expecting them
You'll get them, just shut up
It's just noise
They all want me and my noise
But it's all just noise
It scratches
It creaks
It beeps
It boops
It bleeps
It beams
It beckons
It goes on for oh so, so, so, so, so, so, so long
Why do you want it, you disgusting *****?
shhhhh
khhhh
tshhhhh
krrrrr
bhhhhh
ssssss
trrrrr
But it doesn't make sense
None of it does
It's me
It just goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on
Why do you want it, tell me that
Who are you to ask my why I want it if I do
I'm tired of this can I just make peace with me
Yes you can
No you can't
Yes you can't
No you can
Yes you are
No we aren't
No I can't can
.......
.......
.......
-------
-------
-------
ooooooo
Who are you?

they lied to me
when they said
they'd be kind as princesses
and quiet as mice
but if it were true
why are my ears covered?
why am i crying?
why am i shaking like mad?
why am i running away,
escaping from everything?

why?
why do they do this?
my hands are still shaking
as i write on this tear stained page

my head is resting
(but not in peace)
on top of my aching arms
my eyes are shut tight
not opening or seeing

am i awake?
am i asleep?
am i alive or dead?

no one knows
not even i
who would care about me anyway

Your cotton-balled mind
Drowns out noise
While heals hit
Stiff, unyielding pavement

Everything is like
The annoyance
Of a mosquito buzz

And swatting
Is just a motion-
Like your legs taking you down the sidewalk
Like your eyes staring at the cracking grey
As you hurriedly move past
Impersonal shadows

The motion that is an echo of you
are the ghosts that bear a resemblance to you.