It can get really, really quiet. When the noise around you accumulates like water bursting out a fountain for the first time, it will get really quiet. When the white fur on your skin starts to disintegrate, it will get really quiet. So quiet, you feel like you are becoming deaf.
Detangling the web of nothingness we get stuck in is most probably the most important challenge we face every now and then.
It can get so quiet
that your ears start to bleed
so quiet that the things you beat yourself up over
simmer in the depth of your cushions, vacant of emotion
so quiet that the world turns white and soft
fuzzy almost
shedding fur
like a white lamb, among other white lambs
surrounded by a guard dog
or perhaps yourself
not allowing yourself to wander of
soon to be shaved and commodified
by what you believe you have been put here on this earth to do
not for you
to be enjoyed or created
but for duties and commodities
so quiet
yet again
that you start to create your own noise finally
screaming and ripping away the fur
that was never your own
and shall never be
for everyone to see that ownership comes
by leaving pre-owned territory.