Soundless

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The Silent Killer

What is a thing that can’t be heard?

A single thing that’s not absurd.

Who has a normal existence,

will soon require some assistance


A silent notion

performed on you

filling the emotion

like a permanent tattoo


It makes me whole

it makes me live

to see the toll

that is taken alive


It will not hurt

so please don’t shift

As I insert

this killing gift


The “Silent Visitor” was not one of my favorites. He knew just what to do to make me quiver. It was him that drove me to my doom. My ill fated life that held no happy ending. Up until this point, I tried not to let the lullabies get to me. I tried my hardest to stay focused on what’s fiction and what was not.


The struggle that the “silent Killer” brought upon what I thought was my true personality made it demanding enough to lead a normal life. I didn’t have much friends, and my mother was single. Raising me was her whole life.




The most contact I had with “The silent Killer” was only one night, but thats all it took. He came in off of the blaze of the lightning storm that circulated that night. With the flash that danced off my bedroom walls he stood in the middle of the room. With a gentle whisper he told me a story. A story much like the psychotic lullaby:


I come from a land

far and dark

a place where I was banned

as I held no spark


My goal its simple

as plain as my face

it will whip off your dimple

with a swift pace.


My intent is mauler

with a sharp incision

penetrating your collar

to impair your vision.


The bonus feature awaits

to de-valueate your hum

its defines you fates

as you blame your mum.


He showed me things about my mother. Things I didn’t want to believe. Things that couldn’t be true. I didn’t want them to be true. He left with the final words of:


Soon we will meet

in a place thats new

a pleasant street

will not leave you blue


I promise to meet you

so you are not left stranded

to make your debut

in the place you have landed…


He faded into the still darkness. The phrase left me boggled. The following days I was distraught and timid. My face grew pale with the lack of energy. I sat in my room and wrote a story:


“There was nothing but the silent sound of chirping grasshoppers. With each step I took, I could hear trumpets and car crashes. One extreme step after another, I felt like a walking disaster. I knew I had to escape from that room but how could I without making a sound? There were boxes and fragments everywhere that making myself inaudible was poor. With no recollection of how I landed in such a disastrous place, I knew that something faulty would transpire.”


The rest, which you have read, are the visions created by the circulated “characters” of my own mentality. I didn’t know who I was anymore and the need to create one more fictional fable to sign off on my own life, was what I wanted to leave this world with. To show you, the reader, what would wander into my mind like it was a coffee shop. My mother will make her way to my room soon and find the closing thoughts of my self destructing last moments of life:


“I conclude this suicide note with the desperate call for help for those who can’t speak for themselves. For those, like me, stuck inside their own heads. A cry for help for those who remain soundless.”



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