Silence,
There is no such thing
The quieter you try to be
The louder your surroundings get
The fridge,
Humming like it’s constantly burping
And laughing at your stagnation
The toilet,
With its stubbornness to never flush correctly
Is whaling its sound
Like a more peacefully drawn out scratching of the blackboard
Which in my prose poses the question -
What’s more torturous?
The immediate turmoil
Or years and years of nagging erosion to the shoreline of your soul…