For Us, there is no Silence—
The Internal Dialogue is Relentless
As it Demands our full Attention
Depriving us of Peace.
The Tangents lose us in Possibilities—
Questions have too many Answers—
The Voices all Shouting at once,
Cancelling each other out.
External conversation offers no Relief—
Stones skipping across the Surface—
Only to finally Sink, in an Emotionless,
Overly-rehearsed Plop.
Submersion is what Consumes Us—
It chokes the Voice as we try to Relate—
The Ocean Pushes from all Directions
And we Spin, until Dizzied to Sleep.
And then, there's This:
A Dim attempt toward Direction—
The Bright, Desperate, Eternal Clutch
Just Beyond, the Upward Reach.
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