Whispers from Me

It isn’t everyday that the darkest part of the room looks the most inviting. The shadows that stretch across the floor whisper sanguine soliloquy’s about who they are, who they were, and will be. Or maybe it’s who they won’t be, were not, and are not.

It’s easy to surrender to the entrancing pattern of mandates that swirl sonorous from the melodies residing in the corners. It’s easy to wail back and get lost in the deafening noise of lament as the argument gets both more aggressive and less dissentient.

The scantiling perspective insists that it's still presence is the epitome of movement. Embrace the caress of fanatical device and raving obsession, it sings. This is how you find tranquility in yourself.

The darkest part of the room is where screams resonate, wails tumble out of tear choked mouths, and feet run to catch up with life before death can catch them. All the while dark holds firmly in its unyeailding comfort. The shadows are ties with soft murmurs and gentle kisses. It's warmer here, quieter here. Easier to talk here, and just be. The trap is in the reality.

So don't cry, keep quiet, and don't move. Serenity is in the stillness. Not the darkest part of the room.