This is random, spontaneous, but it was inspired by someone I still consider a close friend, despite everything. She might not see this or be aware it exists, but since it's a reflection on what our relationship once was, I decided to post it here in the chance she might. It isn't to manipulate her, to upset her or to guilt-trip her; the meaning of the poem might immediately seem like something negative regarding her, but is in fact the opposite. It's silly now to say we were once wives (AFF allows this okay uwu) and we still have our beautiful daughter (shout-out to Adi <3) but in all seriousness, she was one of my closest friends, so this is for her. Idk. Ignore if you want .>.<

They say silence is louder than any storm, scream or stutter,

A hook across the left-jaw that leaves a crumbling, red-crescent,

Flaky pigment and those downturned lips, a face, much like one

Would see pushed into the heel of a shoe. Flesh moulds between

The grooves and you forget what it is to be apart from the pain

Of a wound. You’re every bit the charred, miry sinew, the cold

Cuts of blood, fetid like a liquor, bitter and wet, a prodded eye.

Is this what it is, now? I am more injured by nought than a scream,

An anger, pulsed from your chest, an amphibious throat, croaking

Inside with a voice not its own. Let me lie there, bleeding,

A reminder of what was and what isn’t, a little scar, a gash, a popped

Crimson grimace. You can cut me, sear me, mar me, burn me,

Turn me to a charred orifice from which the nothingness spouts,

Rises like the steam of a kettle, with that faint, vapid whistle.

I’m a flake of dark night lodged in a moon; you see it now, don’t you?

My tangled limbs, my knotted hair, and lips pressed in dewy line;

You’re brighter than that. The silver-caste of a dagger, carving spattered faces

Deep into arms that scream wilder than Devil. You don’t need pitch-black

Lodged within you, there’s a vacancy in Hell for it, and for you there’s

Something warmer, something waiting, out of reach.

Cast me out, hear earth-shatter, then leave me in that silence.

I’ll remember you like I remember hearing, seeing, feeling,

The cult of sense that begs the weak to its folded arms, has them

Tearing claws at the flesh, leaves them for dead at the roadside.

You’re a beautiful soul, a remarkable founder of life, of love, of wonder,

Caved in by the grip of a ruinous globe, inhabited by the thought

Of that dark once within. Let me here, then, be eaten by silence,

For its whisper is louder than all gone before.