the silence, when it hits,
reveals a hurt that
will not heal no matter
how much time elapses—
i cannot find a cure,
because this quiet
is a catalyst that
makes it ever worse,
it is an exponential growth
of invasive vines that choke—
when will i ever learn?
these palliative treatments
give diminishing returns,
and i cannot help myself
if i only ever yearn
and don't take action—
i am frozen not in fear
but in futility, even a
fraction of this weight
debilitates; i cannot stand
all by myself, nor can i
suffer other people,
'cause the noise annoys
but silence petrifies me—
turned to stone, i am alone,
of a volition all my own;
i've trapped myself inside
an empty chamber
not in anger, but in
pessimistic hope
that with my solitude
i'll one day learn to cope.
