Echo Box

. . .

I scream, and I scream, and I scream for help

But no one is around.

My thoughts are terrors in the black behind my eyes

Yet they don't make a sound.


It bounces off the walls of everything I know.

"Absurdism is the loss of everything meaningful and real,"

Is the caw of the raven's crow.

I'd pray to the gods from heaven above, although,

If they existed, it must have been a long time ago.


"Scream all you want, child," they'd say, "What good will it ever do,

Besides assure that these violent chimes

Will keep bouncing back to you?

The voice is distorted and deeper now, but don't let that confuse you sometimes,

It's still just all your own."

. . .