An Awkward Burial mourned in passing Silence...
An awkward burial, mourned in passing silence...
There is nothing left inside these vessels to fill the void;
this silence that has crept in, slowly suffocating our collective exchange of breath.
Words run dry faster than the Sahara, escaping us, tongue-tied, left to drown in the hot sand because somebody�s cat has got my heart�
We are more than awkward parallel travelers; we are the purveyors of death.
Digging our own graves endlessly, waiting for the walls of dirt and lies to cave in and burry all our fears and regrets alive, leaving them for the living floating in our wake.
When the time finally arrives, the second our dwindling dreams have frozen, frostbite clouds my mind and envelopes our hearts� the bitter cold apathy crystallizing in our lungs� this is when we lie down and gladly scrawl out our own obituaries� Let my epigraph read: An Awkward girl, drowning in her awkward silence... mourned no more.