This is the sound of your silent screams
echoing in the dark hours, like full
moons bursting in the night sky, flooding
the eyes of children. This is the sound of
your chest shattering, bones flying and the
whisperwhisper of the cold shoulder of the
I have never loved a sound as much as this.
You are not alone, surrounding you are the
empty thoughts and souls of the others. You’re
full of the quintessential silences that roast in the
blistering Indian summer with pink skies and
orange hues. Smothered words fight to escape
your pursed, red lips. Cracked in nature, naked,
and unloved they shove your words to the back
of your throat, dry like sandpaper from the tears
shed for the loss of innocence.
Someday, I promise, you will be great.
Sickness stretches across your pearly bones,
brittle, gross, your heart blackens like coal.
It spreads; your bloodstream catches the illness
clinging to it for comfort as your organs rebel,
your brain numbs, fighting to not give in. He’s
taken it from you. His eyes are full of stars, bright
and cheerful, he waits. Darkness encumbers his
irises as you weep, body shaking, the pinkness of
your lungs constricting, slowing. Metal, sticky, gross,
it fills the hollowness of your mouth, blackness
engulfs the taste, eyes close.
The taste of silence is the worst in the world.
He’s lost. Your eyes lack hue, gone from them are the
colors of the world. The love you once clung to,
misguided ghosts fill the empty space. Eyes like
buttons fill the holes in your head, your own, breaking
free from the body that held you back. Your sight
returns, finding solace in the corner of your heart that
still feels alive. Beating, your heart silently cries,
screaming into the brisk night air as the stars return
and his eyes fill with magic once again.
His ignorance bestows upon him blissful silence.
Full Title: These are the cries of the women who lost themselves in the storm.