The Silence

There is a deafening silence that pains me a sad arctic cold silence in which an anguished weeping is drowned out a broken crestfallen violin that no longer resounds the lost angel melody now deceased turned to ashes and dust forgotten and meaningless nothing.

Your silence is the silence that speaks a thousand uniform stolid voices all pronouncing underlining clarifying to perfectly crystal clear affirming and reaffirming a thousand times over and again and again like an unwavering monotonous leaden death knell droning on indifferently into heartless infinity.

Your silence, your deadening silence. Your indifferent silence. The cold-blooded uncaring silence in which you forever stifle the surfeit of tears left dry in your dead desert of eternal silence the graveyard the ripping cords open inside me from the core penetrating cutting out the heartstrings all the music amputated by the cutting killer silence.

The sterile arid silence the invincible silence in which the stark verdict is sculpted in icy granite unrelenting merciless immovable mountain of dead black cold. The silence speaks volumes. The silence screams all the pain inside me the pain that bleeds in me from your unfeeling dead black cold, there is no feeling in the silence of your dead black cold, your stone-cold insufferable silence tells me everything there is to know.