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Alicia Sep 2021
if night had a sound it would be a low chatter
the hum of electric cold air
that quietly blows
crisp linen sheets
that speak in the dark
freshly painted walls
that scream in white
television screens
that murmur stories
flickering light posts
that buzz in the night
iridescent cicadas
that hum in the trees
incandescent lovers
that talk in secret
fingers pecking keys
that drum out words
if night had a sound it would be a low chatter
Efa Nuryani Jun 2021
Generating noises and worries
In a moment of recess while restless

There, heaves in sight of a wish
to have some sort of magic
spells to make your pain and sufferings vanish
Hammad Mar 2021
The noises
don't let me sleep
at the day
And The Silence
Keeps me awake
At Night
dailythoughts Oct 2020
make noises in your head so you can’t hear your heart
Still Crazy Jul 2020
them creaky noises:

years ago wrote of meandering this old house,
in the creaky hours of-should-be-sleeping,
listening to the varietals of noises old houses speaking,
how the floorboards talk among themselves when
no human about to trod them, to elicit their groaning,
solicit their tales of who, when and memorizing the ending,

I wander same as before, same house, same wee hours,
no direction home, as I am technically “at home,” but still
directionless, still crazy after all these years, but that’s not
the only still, still left unheard, now new creaks demand a

the house
still talks to me in its language peculiar, but now,
my body, of its own free will, in its poetry of groans in bones,
creaking, two dialects of getting old, always being cold,
sleeping with your socks on, your twisty back named Jack,
who hijacked your invincible good health and getting up is a
hysterical funny musical of snap, crackle and pop, coming from
places inside your body, that supposedly don’t posses the skill of

kept awake by a united nations assembly of them creaky noises,
whirring motors turning me and things on and off all night, what
a racket, only early dawn calls them to order, to quiet down please,
everybody shush, the old house and it’s content, an old poet, needing
some winks cause soon enough the sun and the fog will arrive to
commandeer his overnight recollections, write them up, & write them
down, still crazy

like the one about them creaky-sounds, coming-from god-knows
CJ Feb 2020
I will not lie
Every year on this very day
the more I want to die
but is the voices that keep me alive

On this day
I'm expected to be happy
as everybody wishes me
But I've always felt empty

Nothing has changed
Every year is the same
From the silence in my room
to the noises in my brain

My wish for every year
will never be different
whether or not I could be happier
Then the previous birthday
Will I ever be happier on my birthday?
Am I selfish to just wish to be happy?
Anya Apr 2019
Rap music, discernible except for when the rumble and bumps of the jumping wheels takes over
But still subordinate compared to the twitters, chattering away
The scent of chicken wafts over from the seat across the isle (mind you I’m a vegetarian)
The seat head vibrating my head, thumping the same spot
From rap to pop, voice like a silky cord, winding, winding, grating
Piano back to rap
Head bends and peers, teases, smiles, the turtle returns back into the shell
Phones, phones, busy busy bees those thumbs
Back squished, precarious water bottle about to-HORN
Blasts, the wheels jump, and I’m gone with the sway
My **** falls, my body shakes, the chatters, the charters, the laughs, the shrieks
I’m swept up, I’m swept up
And washed away
We’re here
Whisperer Mar 2019
As a child everyone was scared of the monster under the bed
That made snarky and rattling noises just when we're about to sleep
I was scared too

But then we grew up
And realized that it's all a myth

We got our heart broken
Shattered beyond repair
We got our self -esteem splintered

Soon we stopped sleeping at night
Like earlier times
But this time the monster that made noise
Was inside...
The monster underneath our skin
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