The pitchblack is a welcome comfort
a distraction from the white noise I see
Sitting back and wondering how many times
I've kept myself from greatness or destruction
One and the same if you ask me.

There is nothing so loud as the screaming silence
That surrounds hollow words meant to be
The blank gun in place of the assassin's rifle
Those bullets are meant for me.

This static is contrived
Atonal and vague
There is nothing more real and raw
Than all those things you mean to say.

03/23/2009

Author's Note: I don't know...

Posted on 03/24/2009
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