Silence of the Self

The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence – Sylvia Plath


Self Portrait. There is so much I want to express but I don’t quite have the words for that. I only recognize what I already know, in the words of other people.

I myself seem to be empty of new thought.

Instead there’s something within me that spills over to everyday action, while pressing for an outlet to burst forth to life.

I dance between silence and insanity.


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