It shouldn’t be this quiet inside a body
that loves music so much.

There should be songs ending and beginning
With every curve ascending and descending.
There should be cymbals clanging against each other,
There should be gongs sounding;
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I want to hear.

If I press my ear up to the mirror and stop breathing,
I can hear the other me whispering.
I want her to shut up.
I don’t like what she tells me.
Her voice feels colder than the glass against my body.


But I don’t know what to do, do I?
I need someone to tell me what to do.
It’s all I can do to listen to her.
It is silent as smoke inside this body.



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