“Because everything is dusty,
that’s why is necessary to feather your soul
every once in a while”

Abel D’andrea.

Somehow my silence has become muddy.
There are layers of muffled screams boiling under mis skin.

Several metaphors singing
in harmony.
Patches of flesh that have become
pockets of pain yelling for attention.

I miss the silence of my youth.
The elated uncertainty right before the jump.
The days I still had wings.

I have endless quotes
to amuse any hell
and thirty some odd tabs
of mental browsers.

My hands are full of stories

Sill I yearn.

The beautiful void before the worries.
The empty canvas of an un-anxious heart.
The dark nights before any storm.

I still yearn

The shhhh that sounds light.
The silence with a smile.
The one that sinks.
The one without a remorseful reverb.
The one without a thud.
The one that is just silence,
one that just stays within me
longer than this poem.

I’m not the only one.