Trying to Hear the Silence

The fruits of madness are sticky and sweet. They grow the same. Ripening on the branch. Until they have swelled enough. And it lets go. Dropping us in the yolk of our darkness. Tearing that paper shell into confetti.

Life sneezed me out. Mucus and all. One succinct convulsion and there we were. Trying to get recognized by eyes that had never seen us. Crawling inside graves with other names on them. Because we didn't know our own.

We had so many words for each other, but none that lasted. We had every way to say it hurt at our disposal. But we didn't know how to change it.

I don't suppose we really need to. It's better sometimes to wish you could have and know that you didn't.