Quiet Confession

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Big was only beautiful in songs and soliloquies. Beauty in abundance is never real.

ProverbialCage: Thoughts pour from my brain in the form of letters and numbers laid out upon the pallet of paper and screens, remaining soundless and unspoken. Coffins house ideas that drift away from these stitched lips and I am garnished with a certain discontent for the muddled musings that fall away from me every day. I would speak if sound would reach you, but instead the quiet cuffs me and I am ill under the silence that binds me. I hide in these lines and only with writing will you see.

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