Could it be that I've fucked away

wonder, 

and that I smoked away peace. 

drowned in awareness 

so now when I breath 

it's only death, and darkness, and surety

that claims me. 

It's only cleverness that breaks me. 

This is real. This is awful. This is it. 

 It could be that buried too deep inside 

the screaming had to be muffled by something worse. 

Worse than crying. Worse than hating. Worse than 

silence. nothing is.