When the silence is not good

I am quite impressed of today. It was a strange day of misery and thinking.

I know I am looking for that someone to make my suffering worthwhile, but it’s indeed silly if you think about it.
It’s like I’m trying to find not a cure but another illness to give the symptoms a name. I am fabricating my own lie.

The truth is out there and it’s dull and it’s hard to digest. It speaks of my failures and my plans and my forthcoming fall. I can cope sometimes with this truth but there are days or night that bring me a whisper too cold to be kept warm even under a pink duvet.

What am I doing here, when it’s clear that nobody can match my soul, when is clear than nobody can heal it by means of whips and paddles?
What I am ultimately trying to say to myself, waiting for something that can’t happen and will never happen anyway.

I am too much for myself. I am drawn out of my own limits.
And the price I pay for this is suffering a pain that puts a whipping to the mere status of a candy.

Nobody can hurt my skin enough right now, so I can’t hear my own thought.
My path is of a wanderer and there is no goal but the silence.

But the music saves me again.
There is something worth living, isn’t it?
There is something worth listening too. Sometimes.

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