I have had awareness. The light bulb over the head.
Standing on the edge, the verge, and nothing.
I wanted to jump, but not necessarily to the other side.
I saw my wounds, bled an awful lot,
but what was it that wasn't dying?
I felt and suffered and didn't surrender.
I manufactured emotions, sold the right version of "me."
I had to feed what I created,
but the hunger never subsided.
I dug my own wells,
they were empty,
they were supposed to have no sound.
Done suffering, I submitted to death.
I realized the dying itself was much worse.
My well began to fill.
The voices of others began to fade.
No one's voice can send me crashing,
or any pleasant words fill my soul.
My worth is from an endless God,
who fills, with the infinite me.
He took the sacrifice.
The noise is gone.