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No sound is coming from my mouth,
no sound at all.

I am sitting completely still,
feet flat,
eyes forward,
emotion neatly tucked away.

On a rotting wooden bench
in the park
I fester as the world
bustles around me.

I am invisible to the naked eye,
yet the most vivid memory
at the forefront of every person’s mind.

You can feel me now,
a ringing in your ears
connects us in our
great separation.

Rage fills the gap
and I am boiling,
overflowing through my pores.

I am the inverse
of your composition.

I cannot release my agony
through my eyelids.
The only sign of truth to others,
is my only lie.

I am sitting still.
I am just a cooperation of bones,
no nerves, I am not human.
I am as dry and hallow
as my brothers beneath my feet.

I join them now.
But I can still hear the children,
the cancer,
the hate,
the fear.

Why can’t I tell you I need you.
You would save me from dying again tonight,
without hesitation.
But I will sit here,
collecting cob webs.

And the rage will not surface.





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