and so it is gladly that i say i do not think i will ever need to come back here again because these things are better said than written.

i come here when i need to leave behind parts of my soul that i can no longer carry for fear of it infecting the rest with either unrealistic joy or too realistic pain.

today i think i must leave behind enough for my pacemaker (for it can no longer be called a heart) to float aimless and directionlessly, shedding itself until nonexistence, like a carefully scrunched up scrap of paper in a hurricane of knives.

i am so very very tired of everything and moving and everything moving so someone needs to tell me why life can't just stay still like a small child about to have his picture taken and why it must get off chairs and climb on tables and kick everything around then put on the wrong shoes and run over your eyes and celebrate the triumph of humanity in a billion words but deprive firemen of a job because robots do it better.

someone needs to tell me why the human condition is not conditional on your humanity and why we cannot all leap into racial memory and take comfort in the fact that everyone before you has survived this and you could drop your burdens into a pool of their hands and watch it diminish like the light at the edge of the night at a quarter to seven.

but mostly i think i would just like someone to turn off the sky and unscrew all the light bulbs in the universe and find me a clock the colour of a shroud because i must never let myself fall asleep like this again.

i'd like to think this is the silence between two people who have an infinite number of things they'd like to say an infinite number of times but don't have to because they'd already known before the other realised it.

dying.

i am sorry my existence is neither very noble nor sublime.

you call me out of harbour and send me looking for broken things beneath the waves

and in your demanding for me to set sail, you forget that simply having lived at sea

does not make you one who was meant for it

this silence, the one that rings louder and more hopelessly

than a thousand fire alarms going off in a desert,

this silence, of looks that bore through every depth of ocean

and height of sky in concert

this silence, of feeling darkness rising and other horrible things that people say you are better than and not knowing if they are right, and worse, not caring, for your heart is no longer beating

this silence, of snapping, broken daisy chains and resting empty heads on hollow doorframes that need no greeting

this silence, this,

is the sound of my heart breaking louder than the moment my universe exploded into being and softer than when it will go out with a whimper