Alexa Laing-Moore
death silence
death silence
the death
all words die here:
where no syllable can survive,
no note can breach the lump in my throat.
broken
fragmented
sentences without meaning or motion.
for here:
is where all words die.
though fingers itch and coil amongst themselves
in a tempestuous fury—so eager to convey
the messages they’ve carried from
those deepest vaults within my heart—they lie still.
because here, right here:
is where each vowel, every consonant is slain.
right here:
and I, for all my pretense of eloquence
am left speechless.
here:
right here:
every word,
gasping it’s last letter,
here:
has perished.