innumerable silences

Gone were the twinkling and jingling,

Of sweet nothings and rememberings,

Tides swept of memories

And only bitterness thrives.

The passion (with hatred) rekindles

Fueling till the agony lives on,

Bearing the weight of solitude alone

With the silent whispers deafening the core.

And union with one’s self is the game

Whence haughtiness and contempt arise

Twas none who heard the innermost cries

In the absence of murmurs, she survives.

Until nothingness becomes a cycle

And the seeming apathy remains

But the wailing shadows lurk within

Masked in the mien of terrifying stillness.