Bustling silence

I want to provoke the silence to listen to my machine of life.
My insides make the energy of the person that I inhabit.
I breathe.
The heart makes the red rivers of my being flow.
I exist.
From my brain burst the words of my voice.
I feel.
Voice of the soul that I am,
of the being that stays on the paper.
There’s no silence in this, my world,
words make the sound,
the bustle of the solitude.
And so until the end,
until the red rivers run dry and my insides rot,
then only my message will remain,
code of letters that my voice will read for another.

We refuse to listen to ourselves.
We mute the internal voice with external sounds.
We annul this exclusive identity for external confusion,
We prefer to get lost than to find ourselves.
To find frightens us.
The absolute silence is our fate,
let’s enjoy now this unique and personal bustling silence
Let’s discover a machine of life like no other.