every ten seconds of silence

the relentless grind

every ten seconds of silence

is an hour in my head.

Sunday stomped in gray and violent,

sweating, itching, underfed.

i’m moving in motion.

there’s no escape.

i ripped out the fucking brakes.

kept the speed, let caution break.

full throttle as soon as i wake.

even though i just haven’t slept yet.

i can’t slow down.

i can’t sit still.

i’d rather crash than slow down to deal

with the parts i gutted, the parts that ate.

now i just grind my teeth and accelerate.

sound thoughts will try to trickle in

as Sunday will come to an end.

where did the warning label go?

how do i shut this off?

a switch, a plug, a button to push.

nothing. i just keep dreading on.

i’d mistaken exhaustion with ambition.

dressed burnout up in scrubs and skin.

if i keep racing past the warning signs,

maybe nothing real gets in.

i feel vile.

more speed.

a smile.

no sleep.

Monday's grip

Monday’s mouth is wide open,

waiting for me to crawl inside.

same routine, same sickness,

same dead look behind my eyes.

starving Sunday screams like sirens,

empty stomach, wired thin.

springing on dread and dry mouth,

trying not to let the dark get in.

ill mouth,

taped tongue,

tired eyes,

but still on the run.

i mistook acceleration for escape.

made collapse look workweek neat.

kept my body moving fast enough

so i would never feel defeat.

i misunderstood survival for devotion.

made a ritual out of strain.

ripped the brakes out with both hands,

then let the panic take the reins.

the cycle continues

still on empty,

still going,

still grinning,

still showing.

no brakes.

just fast.

don’t look.

hit the gas.

still starving,

still waking,

still shaking,

still faking.

but never really STILL.

always just mentally ill.

i confused exhaustion with ambition.

dressed burnout up in scrubs and skin.

if i keep slicing past the warning signs,

maybe nothing real gets in.

my confusions are detrimental disillusions.

made collapse look a healthy workweek.

now i’m all teeth and bad decisions

with dead-eyed starvation underneath.

every ten seconds of silence

is an hour in my head.

Sunday stomped in gray and violent,

sweating, itching, underfed.

i’m moving in motion.

there’s no escape.

i ripped out the fucking brakes

and hit full throttle as soon as i wake.

except i haven’t fallen asleep yet.

the end of the line

i’m over it.

04/19/2026

i’m tired of the chase.

the endless loop.

the grind.

the noise.

what if i just stopped?

what if i let the silence in?

would it swallow me whole?

or would it finally set me free?

i want to breathe.

to feel.

to exist without the weight.

the pressure.

i crave stillness.

a moment to gather the pieces.

to stitch together the frayed edges.

to find the beauty in the chaos.

this is my confession.

my raw, unfiltered truth.

i’m searching for a way out.

a way to reclaim my spirit.

to let the darkness in,

but not let it consume me.

to dance with the shadows,

but not be defined by them.

i’m over it.

i’m ready for something real.

something raw.

something that speaks to the depths of my soul.

i’m ready to embrace the silence.

to find solace in the stillness.

to let the art flow through me.

to create from the chaos.

this is my journey.

my survival.

my art.

and i’ll keep moving.

keep creating.

keep living.

until i find my way home.