but sometimes, quiet isn't violent. it'll slowly blur the lines between reality and reverie, you gently drift away from friends, family, until you're all alone in the eerie silence, white noise buzzing softly in your mind until it drives you up the wall...or off a cliff.
YOU ARE READING
dark poems
Poésiethis seems like poetry and prose sometimes it's more than you'd suppose see, what my mind creates, goes but what that is, nobody knows
