Contrived Demons

Silence isn't golden,
it's deadly.
In the absence of conversation
the mind infiltrates the heart with poison.
Millions of scattered thoughts
float like ethereal wisps, clouding out love
as darkness blots out the beauty of the light.
The past becomes a possibility of the present;
The present becomes blinded by the fear of future failure.
We drown in ourselves,
gasping for air,
suspended in slow motion,
trying to reach a surface that is leagues beyond our fingertips.
In the moments that follow we beg for salvation,
plead for mercy,
cry out in hope of redemption,
but we receive no answer.
There's nothing but the sound of water
to muffle our inward screams.
We kiss each other goodbye,
but we never breathe a word --
both defeated by our own contrived demons.