sometimes i am sick of talking to you
and you and you and him and her and them and us.
there is a language that lives within silence
communicating so much more
as it takes the wheel and steers me in directions
i cannot find on the tip of my tongue.
i can feel it in the distance
growing and breathing in the corner
where i place unwanted objects
under the blindspots and shadows
it is watching my every move
in sheer mockery.
it is waiting for the moment i do not need it most
to plunge back into my life
foraging through the thoughts i have left untouched
throwing them all towards my direction
like unfinished duties left like unwashed clothes
at my feet
forcing me to look at all the things
that are wrong with me right now.
it is waiting to laugh in my face.
this language is brutal in its honesty
but i have learnt the art of conning the truth before.
this dirty, dirty contraption of heavy, crass pockets
filled with nonsensical thought-process
will one day dribble unto the forefront of my sight
until it is all i can see
and i become blinded
by a ruthless mind that does not forgive.
these unbecoming noises
they wake me up
they always wake me up
with their anguish and chaotic brilliance
they want me to respond
they want me to hear it all
to sift through the layers of a sickening black
until i am no longer myself
but an actor playing out the script of a twisted
addictive mind with nothing better to do
than to infect its darkness
upon the lightest of shades.
but i have learnt the language of neglect
thundering through these waking days
where slumber is tucked into cracks for spiders to
and everything will taste like wine and tea for a while
as i stare into skies searching for moments the ground cannot give me
whilst this heavy mind screams its unnerving notes
its song for the restless
its song for the wicked.