By: Landen Miller
Silence. Nothing in the world, isolated from the many people of my nature, I stand before me a tall building made out of sheets of thin paper. Eyes widening with a break.
Chains chowing me down as I get pulled away from my nature.
The blood dripping from my eyes as I try to forgive myself for my past mistakes, but not finding the correct book to narrow it down inside. The anger inside, boiling.
Like a hot stove against water and a pan burning on my soft skin. I can't contain the molting rock that is beneath my skin. The hunger for blood and thirst for vengeance is digging deeper.
The Cries of my silence is not heard by anyone, I am completely isolated to those who do not listen, for that I am thankful for my own time.
Roses around me dying as well as every life, the cuts deepening around my neck with the sharp rope, hooking me against the ceiling. Cries, Cries of sorrow, pain, and anger.
Silence is all that is heard... Silence is all that could be heard inside of me.. The Cry Of Silence.