Against the silence

Against the silence. Struggling.

Daily (lost) battle without the self-assurance

against that deafening sound that remains

when so much has been unvoiced. So much

that it contaminates

the long vigils of who has come to inhabit

only residues of his own

hours; just the words repeated

with the sick tenacity of late conviction,

with the equally belated and obstinate bravery – one

that is exclusively intimate: futile.

Against the silence that carves a more consummate

mutism: more embroiled and abject;

where the only thing present ends up being

the past

telling the cruelties with which one smears

oneself

as if one were rubbing

a consolation.

Against the silence that one

has become: life deferred to those solitary

simulations.

© Marcelo Wio