When Silence Speaks

Today, the doorbell of my mental hideout rang. It rang with a sound like twinkling waterfalls without the moisture, And tweeted like a soft pillow from my 5-year-old camping nest. The scorching glare of darkness crawled up the stairs and seeped Past the crackling summer which was too cold for me. It was a chill that was like purple and green and blue. I went to a hut to produce my own perfume, Scented with exhaustion and misery. There is not much else I can add, the shelves are bare as if A theif came in and out and never came back. When silence finally speaks, it’s time I fall back into my chair, A long forgotten place of rest. It’s not really that sweet, Not really like the sugar leaves stored deep down in my Bluish drawer.