it’s quiet

not the comforting silence like a warm blanket on a cold winter morning as snow falls and mutes the sounds of the city outside

or a scenic vista overlooking the sea

the birds in the distance swooping down on the waves for a midday meal

a lone light house on a small rocky outcropping to guide the wayfaring vessels from the jagged stones

the tense silence of someone is in the house

the random creak of a floorboard like crackling electricity down your spine

or the wet plop of fat tears onto a sheet of paper as the pen scribbles the words i’m sorry

again and again and again

oppressive

somehow absent and all consuming

the moment’s peace you craved until it coated everything in nothing and somehow nothing is too much

anything is better than it

but nothing is all there is

it is the silence of the fish before the break breaks the foamy wave

of the antelope before the lioness pounces

it is

it is all there is

the itchy sweater of depression draped over shoulders

too hot and heavy for this weather

whether or not you want it or not

the only sound is that of labored breath

of a too fast

too loud

deafening heartbeat in your throat

so quiet

too quiet

too much too soon

so little saving grace

the spider in your head sits patiently

awaiting the soft sway of the web

minute reverberations

any stray thought is prey

to be spun into a cocoon of merciless over analysis

drained of light

try not to make any sudden movements

in the silence

so aware you’re alone

comatose yet fully aware of your surroundings

unable to speak to the sobbing loved ones

wishing they would pull the plug and end this sick facade

of living a lifeless existence

so much emptiness it feels smothering

suffocating on air

drowning dryly

sing for me my angel
help alleviate this pain
bring forth your healing light
let me dream again

repeating this mantra like a candle against the darkness

but darkness is all

this silence is all

adieu