Most of the time,
I speak with searing silence,
Because spoken words
Are not remotely eloquent enough
To fully express the countless dire sentences
Being scribed within me.
Thus, I must conclude
That our loudest cries are the ones
Nobody can hear
And pain-riddled quiet
Can puncture eardrums.
My ears incessantly ring
With unremitting unvoiced thoughts,
Dropping like hushed bombs detonating
Along my fragile mind’s landscape.
I am a concoction of craters,
A manifestation of absence,
A lack of what ought to be,
And with every noiseless explosion
My loss deepens.