Poetry by Rowan Evans

I sit alone, the weight of my thoughts
pressing into the air like fog—
what does this life hold for me?
Nothing, and it's the truest truth I've ever known.
My words scatter, lost in the wind,
falling on ears that never hear.

Why bother asking for help?
Why reach for something that isn't there?
I speak—my voice a fragile thread,
breaking the silence with the briefest breath—
and then it's devoured,
swallowed by the abyss
that never blinks.

Who knew silence could scream so loud?

It rips through me like a storm,
the hollow echo of nothing
shattering inside my skull,
rebounding, rattling like a broken bell
that never stops ringing.
Disoriented. Defeated.
Silence—an ocean of apathy,
drowning me,
leaving me gasping for air
that isn't there.

My voice—no more than a whisper,
when all I want to do is howl at the void.

Somebody hear me.
Does anybody care?

The only answer—
Silence.

I fall asleep in its cold arms,
wake to its cruel embrace,
its hum the only thing that keeps me tethered.
The weight of dread,
its fingers tight on my throat,
whispers, Why sleep, when dying feels like rest?

Eyes open—again.
Another day,
another long stretch of silence.
Their lips move, but their words are ghosts,
drowned in the roar of silence,
a deafening tide that pulls them under.

I want to escape.
I want to disappear into anywhere,
anywhere but here,
anywhere the silence doesn't follow.

I want to leave this life behind—
to step into a new one,
where the air doesn't choke me,
where I can finally breathe.
I just want to believe,
to feel something other than this suffocating numbness,
but silence,
it grips tighter,
its fingers like iron chains
wrapping around my will to live.

I was born in silence—
and I will die in it,
a ghost in the dark.
And then—
maybe—
maybe my voice will finally be heard.

But until then...
silence.