In a wordless whirl of words
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This vacuum needs to be filled, waits to be filled. I’m looking for the word that will unlock a consciousness, shake a will; a word that will break the barrier of dead comfort. But there it is, the word. It only bears the outward semblance of meaning, a smooth stone in a barren womb. I feel the torment of the searcher who always comes back with the empty hand and an inside out pocket around the crooked waistline, the bumpy knees bruised but not yet bleeding. The relentless flow of locutions in the midst of which I stand as a silent pillar in ruins erodes the glaze of certainty which I put on everyday as one wears a cloak to conceal utter confusion and lack of purpose. I’m sucked in from the inside, guts collapsing again and again. A mouth that stretches its corners doesn’t often tell the truth. Collecting the refuse of days is a deranged contentment, but in the dark, clasping the sheets, I close one eye at a time.