speak; we
ponder these shades of
life, tones of home.
we are
grey. it's quiet behind those
shades-

like silence.

it's something like
fatigue,
something about the
gauze covering (my legs are)
a bloodstain and
i am
exhausted.

nightly, we sleep naked like
empty white envelopes that
fold, crumple, we
collapse
beneath dawn weight.
8:10 am papercut
eyelids,
i can't see,
i can't
breathe.

quietly, i sink into the pocket
of a paper casket
sealed wet with viral saliva,
a tongue saturated with
memories, it
tastes secrecy seeking
honesty, we know-

we live in silence.

these patterns of
speech, so
wearily my own.
patterned daily monotony;
waking, sleeping
(live, die)
eager repetition of
consequential
humanist
tendancies.

sound circumvents
our ears
with shallow,
sleepy breaths. as
we blink, the
day begins
to move.