Think, very loudly yet not a word is spoken.

Words roaming round the round head,

Free and loose, no particular pattern..

Just parting and meeting every now and then

To make a special sound;

Not heard but felt

Deeply, it hurts.

Sometimes they whisper,

Sometimes, they scream

within the fortified walls of the mind;

Soundproof,

Echoes repeat,

Yet no one minds

For they do not, cannot hear.

They sleep, sound

When the restless thoughts are free

To their own distress and their master’s;

Poor chap, with no control:

Insomnia, dark circles.

Shaking it off with a smile and deep breaths.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Thoughts, thoughts ,thoughts.

Trying different positions, yet

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts.

They do not rest, no..

They scream and rattle

Like a witch’s cauldron full of bizarre things,

Boiling,

Boiling the head

It does not explode,

But the master does.

He commits thought suicide.

Farewell thoughts,

Dead at last.

Alas!

Yousra Marcil