In Silence: A Poem

“Sometimes quiet is violent” – twenty one pilots


I held her as

her every muscle bent.

Along her back, a twisted waltz

rippled beneath the skin

(her ribcage danced like worms)––

her jaw fell open, her tongue pushed back

as if in a scream, as if she gagged.

Her eyes rolled in her head,

all the way backwards, into her brain;

her nerves ripping, her muscles snapping,

her dead fish arms

limp at her sides.

I held her, and whispered kindnesses to her,

but I could not revive her,

which shook me all the more,

as she was me.

We sat in silence.


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