My silence seems to be a chainsaw
slowly sawing through my throat
and it seems to be a jail
I’ve locked myself into, but
I don’t really feel like leaving.
Because even as it cuts me open,
it sews me shut and I’m glad.
I know I’m not suppose to do this,
but here I am.
Here I am.
Here I am, head barely attached to my body,
demons crawling out of me,
here I am.
Silent, and as long as
I’m not entirely unhappy,
I guess I’m in a good place.
I guess silence is like a nice place
to settle down in.
I guess, here I am.
Sorry if this poem appears on 28th, I had some technical problems and the poem was deleted, I think. Thanks! x