A music without even the most quiet noise,
a replica uttered in an inaudible voice,
but how come the chaos in our heads never seems to hush?
Instead, it only rapidly grows to the greatest extent,
never stopping that tiresome rush.
The Nile of thoughts is only getting bigger,
while I can only quiver at my unceasing ideas.
Being alone can only make it worse,
the elaborate journey to silence only getting prolonged.
Could I take the smallest breath, please?
Even for just a moment,
before I turn right for the millionth time in the row,
replaying in head every single moment that has ever passed.
Somebody makes you take left then.
Suddenly you realize you are more than just lost,
wandering in the infinite forest of screaming reproaches
like a transparent ghost that is slowly becoming invisible,
because of all that constant constructive criticism.
If I ever hear nothing,
will I be even able to feel something,
rather than hollow heap of sensations,
flowing out of the fountain of redemption?
Sometimes noise and silence
are both quiet and deafening…
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