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You're Not Alone, Even in DeathI woke up to nothing at all. A literal black stained the landscape around me. Sure, there were mountains and trees and valleys, but there was nothing. No wind, no sound, no sun. Black was all I saw.You're Not Alone, Even in Death by 7Demented
I started up and started gasping for breath, feeling my neck for something that didn't exist anymore. My invisible heartbeat shot up as I realized what I had happened. Everything had finally come full circle. I looked down at my hands and saw only the outline of them in the sharp contrast of the light; the same applied to the rest of my body. I, too, was nothing at all.
"Why hello there," rasped a voice. The sound was that of a snake mixed with human speech and put me on alert. I swiveled my head to see a cloaked figure standing by what looked like a fire. It was also black and white yet somehow seemed brighter than everything else. "Please come closer," said the figure again, "I won't harm you."
Very afraid of this man- I could assume it was a man based on voice- I hesitated to draw near.
Lost and FoundHe has prayed as muchLost and Found by BathroomStallStories
as he said "I love you"
in both cases
they were inaudible
Occasionally you can hear him
when he traces the outline of you
similar to the way
a stroke induced December
remembers to speak spring
like he's seen you before in his dreams
You can hear him
when his eyes linger at your smile
as if he could find faith
from your light
trapped, imbedded in insecurity
his way is a broken record even the deaf could listen to
He will not say I love you
not because he doesn't
but because you can not hear a man
you have yet to meet
but when you do, oh god, you will be brutally aware
Because with love like his
you could drown twice
and not want to come up for air
Mute Say - SonnetIt seems these stifled words for you will always lack musicMute Say - Sonnet by VicariouSoul
No matter how smooth or effortless they fall from the vine,
Not ever heard raising a single pitched note into your mind,
And thinking on what to do makes me somewhat muse sick
Knowing words with no tune is just mute say, mute poetry,
A forsaken giant no one sits under, namely the wise Poetree.
Your head is often a mass of undeveloped skull fat flapping
In the wind, and your brain, sand my pressed fingers draw in,
But no matter what messages or 'I'm telling you' premonition,
There they are, erased with every doubtful wave's slapping.
So I place several pieces of lint at my pen’s rolling ballpoint
Whose purpose is to inflame this fretboard of soundless lines
To mature my message into crackling fire eating at the page
'Til my once quiet, now audible red words burn with a rage!
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