is it only me who hears voices muted over a thousand miles?
and is it only me whose eyes reced into the circles drawn onto my face
told to be covered, but only worsened with the bright?
but oh how shall one see with no light?
my ears, tailored to the racket;
will they not implode in the quiet?
an eclectic depression has filled my mind with bore
its brightness bears a resemblance to our earth’s darkest enemy
and just like him, it has become our only source of life
so as we interact, seemingly interested though un-destined, the refraction of noise and sight spoil our mind
but why is no one in fright?
today, i found myself aching.
the parallels which have been placed upon my thinnest layers
began their perpetual cycle of tearing,
releasing a fluid, so gory that it makes your eyes shut.
followed by the strain of my spine,
they trace my deepest apologies, cries, and worries.
the wounds i once saw ease,
you slice up again, leaving nothing but ache for me to wheel back into.
neither tears nor screams will heal me now
because
today, i found myself aching.
who am i if it’s not for the media i consume,
and the joy your views groom
who am i if it’s not for the way i sob,
and how my chest throbs?
have i lost the moment my child
hid in my innermost being
and i became part of a nameless bond
or was it just part of my imagination,
an idea, never at the forefront
who am i to ask if no one hears my call,
no one there is to dial,
no one there is to dial
– Carlota Do Rosário
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