notes on home I

the immensity of loneliness
is an empty note
with no words
hence it can not be read
never spoken of
it merely lingers as an infinite singularity
in the heart of existence

I leaned my forehead against your cold brick wall
evoking the soundless roars
behind the curtains

a rhythm that walks like time
surrendering to its own limit
maybe its death is the sum of its goodbyes


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