I can hear the stirring of a car outside and the calling of a bird but they too fade away

the silence consumes my ears.

I tap my fingernails hard into my skin underneath, the bones sound a hello, rusty I suspect. it sounds like knocking on wood.

my mind drifts inside the last novel I read.
if you must know, all the main characters end up dead.

a loss of fiction people does more to me, it cracks the wall of my heart and fills it with rawness

this rawness tastes the same like silence only with sadness involved.

so I lie down on the floor and let a tear find its way to the cold stony fingers of the tiles and let feeling take over me while my fingernails play with my bones of wood and I listen to the silence yawn.