To be deaf in a world without sound,

Is it deaf, or merely profound?

The birds chirp and the wind blows,

Though nobody hears it, no one knows.

A wave on the shore can crash,

Swords can swing and slash.

Sprinters can leap and dash,

Lightning can strike in a flash.

What does it mean in a world without sound,

To be deaf whilst walking around?

In the end, my inexperience probably shows,

For silence is never heard when reading the words of Prose.

Your mouth is moving

There's no sound

It's just your mind

Crying out

Nothing is nothing

But it's still loud

It's heavy enough

To choke you out

Ever expanding

It knocks you down

Cutting you off

A sanity drought

Nothing increases

Invisible shouts

More than torment

Nerves tightly wound

There's no escape

When silence surrounds

Silence. 

Is it the absence of sound, or the

Overwhelming presence of all sound?

Is it the reaction to a question, or the 

Decoded answer to a question?

Is it what you want when you're 

All alone,

Or the cause of your loneliness?

Is it anything at all, 

Or is it nothing?

Is silence even there, 

Or is silence what humans label

The stillness in life 

We all unknowingly need?

We define our world

In a series of sounds

We never hear

Unmindful of

Insects, wind, the whine of cars

  And compressors

Natural and mechanical beats

That are always present

And missed when absent

But faded into a background

Of unconscious trivialities

Buried in the noise

Of life

So how strange

And how magnificent

That far removed from that immersion

I stand at what seems

The edge of infinity

And deliberately strain my ears

To listen

For a sound

I have never experienced

That is defined

Only in its absence

And that cannot be heard

But is nonetheless there

Unmoving

I hold my breath

Both with anticipation

And not to interfere

And then I wait

  And wait

And am finally graced with

The sweet

Incredibly beautiful

Achingly pure sound

Of utter and

Complete

Silence

If you die, it's over.

If you commit suicide, it really is the end.

There's a very profound difference between losing your life, and taking it.

Look, I'm agnostic. I don't believe in God, but I don't discount the possibility either.

So let me tell you my reason for not choosing to die.

When the universe seemingly asks me, what the fuck are you doing, it asks me in so many ways.

Terrible ways.

Ways you might have been demanded to endure, like abuse.

Like things being stolen from you.

Like never having enough.

Like being ignored.

Like losing, and feeling lost.

Like forgetting, and blaming.

Like hurting, and being hurt.

The question runs around, in a vicious cycle, disguised as misfortune.

In its pretense, it tricks you in terms of form.

But always, the question remains the same.

What the fuck are you doing?

Questioning you, to make you question yourself.

To make you wonder, to the extent of choosing to die.

You shouldn't.

Because whatever the reason, choosing the end means becoming a part of the cycle for someone else.

A question of pain, and suffering, and uncertainty.

That is what you will be remembered for.

So remember this.

As life asks you again and again this question, this unbelievably hard, important question, remember its purpose.

And choose your own.

Whether we're here for some reason beyond us, or not, we are here.

And all we can do is try.

In the face of it all, we try.

And in that way, we kind of defy circumstance.

Saying, fuck it, or fuck you, to our pain.

Our shame.

And our loneliness.

So when life happens to ask me,

What the fuck are you doing?

I say, my best.

Because it is all I can do.

That you, or anyone can do.

Such is life.

I don't know you, you don't know me.

The truth is, I've been there myself. Yeah, where you are right now.

Difference being... I was too chicken shit to actually do it.

I still remember that day. It was late morning. I waited until my parents had gone out. Breakfast, or lunch, brunch. You see, back where I came from, eating out was affordable and we did that all the time, day in, day out.

Anyway, I'd been crying my eyes out for a few weeks, and they probably thought I was on the mend. Even if they didn't, it never crossed their minds that I was capable. So, at the ten-minute mark, I made my move.

Kitchen knife, check.

Bucket, check.

Comfy, clean white sheets... fuck. Mum's going ballistic if she comes home and sees the stains.

This is about the time when I'm paralyzed by thick, sticky, black fear... I look at the shiny blade, shimmering, calling out to me. Daring me.

Obviously, I didn't do it. I'm not as brave as you (I wanted to cut across the tracks, not along... pfft! I was such a rookie).

I will tell you one thing. In that mess of my head, where nothing made sense, and all I wanted to was to stop the pain, I realized one thing: no matter how helpless I felt, or how things have become—I knew that time will heal. It's the one universal certainty, apart from change.

Of course, if you're dead sure about going ahead, no one can stop you. But if you think you'd like to give yourself a chance to see what life could bring, then give yourself that chance. It's difficult, I know. Life is hard. Nothing is easy. But if you get through this, and I know you can, you'll be stronger out from the other end.

So, have a cry. Cry as much as you need. Lean on someone. Lean as hard as you can. Pray if you want, it doesn't have to be God per se, just think of something bigger than you are. Talk to him or her. Or it.

Be thankful. There's always someone worse off than you. It's cliché, but it's true.

I don't know you, but you now know a bit about me. I'm here for you. I've got enough love and kindness for both of us.

Here. I've got some cash. Let's go get some fast food and ice cream.

Come on. My treat.

Don't see yourself through your eyes. See yourself through mine. I mean, who do I run to when I've done something stupid? Who never fails to make me feel better when I had a bad day. Who know the only word that can make me smile and laugh at the same time? I know you're thinking you're hopeless because the people at school treat you like shit but they won't be here in three years. I will. They're irrelevant background noise in your story, and I'm the supporting character. I know I have the tendency to talk about myself too much and to not listen like I should, but I'm here and I'll always be here, even if you have to speak louder to make sure I hear you.

Look, I'm afraid of heights but I'm here on this ledge with you. Even if I fall you and you live, this will be worth it because you're the important one in this. I know you don't like when I talk like that, but to me, it's true. I'd give my last drop of blood to save you just like I know you'd do for me. I'd cut my fingers off wrestling a knife from you and only be mad I can't flick you off with that hand anymore. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, which is why I want you to think in terms of me and not in terms of you. You just see trash but I see the dirtiest diamond ever. I mean seriously, who is going to get my dirty jokes and punch me when I fart in the car?

I know just seeing a tear fall from my eyes worries you because you think I'm the strong one through this, but I feel the same hearing you talk about yourself in such a negative way. I mean, where am I going to get a better brother from another mother? And to replace such a stellar part? I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a paper clip like I almost did in fourth grade. I've never been one to call you out on your bullshit, said no one ever, but this is the worst idea you've ever had. I mean, do you know what will happen to me if you do this? I'm going to do it too and go to the gates of hell, grab you by the neck, and strangle you until the devil needs to put on a coat.

Can't you see that this is killing me? I mean, I love you. Not in the way your ex-girlfriend was supposed to, but as someone I can't fathom being romantic with because I don't want to lose you as my friend. I would rather lose my sense of taste (and you know how I love to eat) than see you be in pain. Please, put the knife down. Let me clean you up and let's go watch Family Guy. I can't lose you. You're the most important thing in the world to me.

I used to feel lonely with my friends around.

Funny, 'cause I would laugh and smile where appropriate (and not).

They weren't the best of friends...

they were actually pretty toxic friends.

so I left them. (dramatic pause)

I should have felt great. I should have felt independent and invincible. I was standing on my own. That made me strong an everyone would see. right?

Right. For the first week anyways. then I felt lonely.

Did I have a mutated loneliness that haunted me with or without people?

No. that was the realization. Loneliness wasn't a  physical condition: fixed by company.

Lonely is the cavity. The feeling of a cavity rather; constantly nagging at you like a toothache. I hole must be filled. What is this hole?

I tried filling it with books and deeper conversations and found the antidote by accident; Peace with my own solitaire company.

I had to not fear Lonely, but love lonely back into myself. Lonely was a person in me who had been holding on to the fear and resentment of not being fully understood.

Lonely was a thing in me that longed for MY Love of MYSELF

Lonely was the soul in me crying for my company, like a child pained at being ignored by a parent. Lonely was the illusion sold to me by the media that suggested I should have 1 million friends and plans every night.

Lonely had a cure.

I was Loneys cure.

So I started talking to myself

(You'd be surprised what you say when you're not pretending)

I started asking myself questions like I was on a date

or befriending someone in elementary:

What's your favorite color? Why is it? What music do you like?

One day I awoke to my silence.

Alone.

and not Lonely.

Lonely faded away with the night..

And I..

Well I...I was simply Alone.

And Okay.

Alone is the comfort of a warm bed and a good book, the enjoyment of the silence and the solitary. It’s the peace that has found a place within your chest, where there’d been a desperate need to please only hours before. The feeling of the world wrapping around you and only you, existing within the bounds of your reality alone.

Lonely is the disgusted stares of those who don’t understand, the empty spaces around you where you wish human hearts beat, in time to yours. It’s the uncertainty and the skittering looks, the need to please and be a part of something more than just yourself. The isolation of the world closing in on you, trapping you within a prison that you should have the key to, but don’t.