My silences are sprinting They're so many, at once There's a pimple on my wooden face Waiting to be burst But the silences come first They threaten me with an explosion I can already smell ashes Grey, spotty, flaky, and choking A ruined world remaking No I'm not romanticizing Someone else's war All my problems are mine, okay? My jarred edges Reek of stale cynicism My unlit mind Damp and resistant to hope I try to look like I care Resharing brutal news Replaying the victims' tears I mimic activism Lying passive in my bed of privilege Unremarkable in my performative concern As I think to myself The world will always stretch, tear and burn I am throwing my words around Because I like their gibberish sounds They're hurdles for the silent beams That are racing towards me And I don't want to be found.
mimimusing 