subtext

I am tired of words,

the anxious necessity

to hear, if only

my own stifled whispers.

I am tired of talk:

the exchange and banter

enmeshed in daily

guilts and desires. 

I am tired of listening 

to my stillborn story,

unsure each moment

if I’ve said it before.

I’m tired and uncertain;

there is no end, no beginning.

(July 13, 2024)