[ originally written down, this piece consists of rambling tbh. ]
fill me with white noise,
so i never have to feel empty.
shake this silent house with screams,
so there’s no space for anything more.
because the moment we pause,
our masks begin to crumble.
the moment we hesitate,
our puppet strings snap.
( i find it oddly poetic how
silence holds the most emotion —
nothing grasping something.
and we so desperately hate it. )
how can nothing still keep something
while i cannot even keep you close in my arms?
the ringing in my ears shrieks louder.
( did i say that out loud? )
the silence, it makes you think.
the quiet, it makes you dream.
but its too much too much too much.
so fill me with white noise.
[ post scriptum. ]
but we don’t scream.
we don’t yell.
so we tumble into our own
abysses of “whys” and “what if’s,”
oblivious to the fact that the only one
who could pull me out was you
and you, me.