Dear Reader,
they say that life is loud.
That it's noise deafens us and dulls our senses.
that it is all just..... too much

But you see, dear reader, I... disagree
I think that life is absolutely quiet,
and I think that the silence bothers people.
Because, much to the disagreement of others,
silence is so terribly loud

within the quiet hides
all that we are,
all that we hope to be,
and all that we fear.
monsters thrive in the silence
because there is nothing to
drown them out
no escape.
Just you and your own mind.

I believe that Hell
is cold and quiet.
That it is like snow muffled steps
echoing in our souls forever.
The frigid silence is inescapable

It seeps into your very bones
and fills your head
until all you can hear
is the smooth cold laughter
of your demons
as they delight in your numb isolation

I believe that this hell
is already here
and it fills our lives

Think about it,
the world shattering
as the silence of your worthless life
echos through your core.

Yes,
it is the silence that frightens us.
The things that the silence reveals in our souls.
As it uncovers the monsters that lurk
in the dark shadows of the mirror before you.
It forces you to face
every flaw.

So please,
I beg of you,
scream with me.
cut me open
and bleed with me
so I can escape this all encompassing silence.

“What is the reason, I wonder?
What could possibly be the cause?
For her to evoke such a response of antiphon?
I find myself forgetting. Failing to recall
what it was like to ever be without her.
Finding all other plans to be forgone,
in favor of chasing after her.
As she sings her feather dusted song,
The entirety of whole world
seems to be strung along.
What a perplexing existence,
yet I cannot help but to be enthralled.
Perchance this is what it means to be swept away at the whims of the squall.”

Kinda wanna drive off a bridge
not gonna lie.
Not to die but to just...
pause I guess.
To be surrounded and confined
by the weight and presence of the waves. With nothing but the sound of the water
to encase you.
Maybe it’s the feeling of sinking I crave.
Or maybe it’s surrendering to the depths just to see what waits there.
In a sense it’s drowning without death. Just sinking so deep and for so long that this push and pull of the water reversed the top with the bottom and I sink to the surface succumbing to the dance of the sea.

I find your words to be empty.
Much like collectible ornate journals
lined up on a shelf.
Stunning to behold.
Carrying the weight of so much
promise and potential,
but of no substance.
I find myself choking
on the dust between
the pages of words
you never mean.

And
      In
         That
               Moment
                            She
                                  Was
                          ­              Consumed
                                                       And
                                              There
            ­                           Was
                           Nothing
                  More
                I
      Could
Do

Stars look like some one spilled a cluster of polished stones and it’s scattered all across the sky
And they’ve been there ever since stuck billowing fabric of time

The universe has a language we've forgotten,
one spoken by all the earth.
and in our haste to create our own "beauty"
we've forgotten how much it was worth.
and once we noticed the absence
we attempted to fill up the hole.
we replaced the feeling
of freedom and soul
with words like money and fool.
yet as we forgot the language,
the world around us did not
and cried for us and our ignorance
as they watched us cut the world up.

into little bite sized pieces,
trying to fill up our cup,
guess we didn't know,
it was still empty
from all that we've given up.

Days flit by
like a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop

As If watching a leaky faucet
In a plugged sink
The drops are slow to build
Weighted down by their own mass
As they reach a point where gravity
can no longer be surpassed,
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop

As they fall into the basin
scattering ripples
And splattering droplets
As they fall
Gathering light in a glittering bowl
As the next drop slowly begins to flow
By the
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop

But once you’re attention is pulled
And the visual is no longer there
Only a sound heard
Consistent tempo filling the air
Seeming to speed
where eyes can’t see
And the budding drops
fall carelessly
With a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop

before you know it the basin is filled
With the drops cascading
beyond ones will
And the ripples now
scatter to waves against the brim
Caving to gravities endless whim
As a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop

Once you notice, it’s far too late
The marble is shimmering
with streams and ponds
As it tallies the fee of water wasted
So too does time slip from the basin
And the coins we pay
exchanged with age
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop

Before you know it
time has come to a stop
along with both
the drip
and the drop

Today I saw the quote
“If it’s about survival... isn’t a little agony worth it?”

As if agony is something so small and easy to bare. As if it is a stone in our pockets that just adds a little weight as we are forced to march on this path that has no way out and no way back. When it’s more like this pressure that surrounds us and pushes our feet into the ground as we wade through this quick sand in attempt to make any progress, to move forward even an inch. In attempt to avoid being swallowed whole. But at the same time we just want to sink to the bottom and let the sticky sand muffle all sounds included our own. So we can let this pressure push us down as we sink further and further holding our breath waiting for that moment when we reach the bottom, just to see what’s there. And when we finally inhale we find our lungs have been filled with sand all along, it’s just this time it fills our eyes and ears as well. But perhaps a “little agony is worth it”. Maybe we should swallow our pain and continue forever forward as if we didn’t just swallow a red hot coal that’s now burning its way through our bodies and melting our will to continue as it goes. But no, let’s swallow it like a chalky pill that sticks to our throats and catches on it’s way down, but don’t worry, here’s a glass of sand to wash it down.

Scattered memories float past my fingertips collecting like dust upon the stars.

I often smoke these days
to fill my lungs
and **** the flowers
I once planted there for you.
I often get high these days
on the freedom I find
in my new life without you.

I have this tightness in my chest
The anxiety swallows me whole
An overwhelming sense of unrest
As I wonder what I did to cause the pull
The pull away from me
I did something wrong I can feel it
But the mistake I cannot see
What
Did
I
Do?
What hurt you?
I will wait for your reply
But this anxiety is causing
the worst sorta high