the silence is never silent;
there's always that ringing
in your ears
that forces you to just
but i think i needed this
i've been listening to music so constantly,
i think i might have
melted my mind
into further chaos,
about anything other than
how nice the static solitude is,
to lie down
on this well-worn mattress
it's alright now.
i wish somebody would've told me that
when i were a little boy.
hush, child, shh
you'll be okay.
maybe it wouldn't have
turned into a lie
if it had just been said
in the first place
it's funny how
the silence and
used to kill me slowly, painfully
but now it's all i'm used to
and i need doses of it
The pace of my fan.
The contours of my curtain.
The cracks on the side wall.
The tree that casts different shadows on my floor.
That creaking sound of my bed.
The smell of my bed sheets.
The reflection of the clock in my mirror.
The chip in my window’s glass pane.
The ray of the sun that peeks through it.
The rust on the edges of the doorknob.
The dust that’s collected on the suitcases.
The colours of the changing sky.
The still water in my glass.
The drop of tear that rolls down my cheek.
Are some things I know too well.
Are the only things that give me company.
I could get used to the silence.
The birds chirping, the bees buzzing, the leaves rustling…
Trivial treasures compared to the screaming isolation.
Louder than anything you’ll hear, quieter than nothing,
Lasting eternally until broken, emphatically.
I could get used to my breath, didn’t notice it before today.
I must have been dead this whole time.
Without a voice, bereft of noise,
That which only feels but never reveals.
I could get used to that.
I could get used to this.