Until the Quite Comes

I wish that I knew what to say to you. You were such a lovely girl when I met you; I think you still are too.

Not that I would know at all, the walls you build around me are tougher than a jigsaw puzzle with no accompanying picture.

And until the quiet comes, I don’t know if I can rest.

The thoughts and memories that give lights to the vacancy signs that you made flicker NO will never go away so long as the quiet never comes.

Lately I’ve been thinking that I’m crazy, not institutionalized but that everyday kind where you lay in bed too often and you think too much about the past.

I knew the quiet once. I didn’t used to feel like this. I used to never think of her and my vices. I used to feel as though I lived a pretty normal life, not too much fuss, suburban nuclear family regardless.

You did this to me, I blame you darling, I would ask how and why but I don’t think I’d like to know either way, for your iron sharpens the iron that sharpens the iron that composes my heart, my body sans organs that solidified when you left.1

Girl, the birds have gone mute, for they have nothing left to chirp about, and the bluebird in my heart got lost, and left with you.

But now the quiet is gone, and I don’t sleep much anymore. And until the quiet comes once more, finally, then finally I will rest.


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