Under the Surface

Friend, Silence listens,—every thought we think, each new feeling which soundless trickles by, the twinge of untold pain, the snuck-in sigh, are registered within the margin’s ink Friend, Silence listens (better than your shrink),— in worries sunken deep below the “I”, the subterranean soul, the scrying spy, dutifully encodes each missing link.— Observe the many mangled manners your mood wrings its revenge out from your wet-cloth mind.— To wrest the terror from your burning breast, it twists your vision—perception, once skewed unkowingly invites the shades inclined to test your tensed chest’s breath of stressed rest.