written in noise

i don’t seem to write much anymore.

Maybe it's because at one point the music got turned up real loud,

didn’t like the thoughts in my head,

the noise of the world. 

So i drowned it out. It all out. Myself out.

i think i’m scared of the quiet. 

Not the kind at night when it’s still- silent, 

rather, the kind i create when i separate. 

i seem to get lost sometimes,

a lot of the time these days.

It seems as if i can play my days on repeat and just watch them fade.

i smile for moments but that too dissipates. 

i don’t remember where i put that list of ambitions,

i can’t find the glue in my desk to mend the ripped edges,

and the pieces i do put together,

they just become part of a long repetitive letter. 

i don’t seem to write much anymore.

And i suppose that may be a lie.

The words are in my head and spread across my pages,

but they never see the sky. 

They never get typed, and now that the snow has come they wait there in the ink

covered in a thickening layer of white.