noises

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.

waiting.

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 

once more

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

urging me

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 

make home

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.