The equity of silence

Eyes blur against the dry grain of their liddish oppressors. Grey light filters through the shades, forcing the iris to cringe in terror and retract. An aimless hand wanders vertically to a shiftless face. A knowing caress met with the razor sharp reality of stubble, yet it still feels good. After gathering an adequate knowledge of the sandpaper-like texture, it moves to a bridge that holds the face together. The fingers pinch, as if to pick up a dirty sock, searching for the crystals of grime pigeonholed in the folds of the eyes. The mouth moves as to yawn, yet no sound or rush of air accompanies it. The lids try to regain their power not once, but twice, yet the eyes hold firm. The body goes from obtuse to right in a lackluster effort, then contorts as the muscles mount manifestation against the previous demands. The eyes shift, wantingly searching for some sense of familiarity, yet only to be greeted by the grinning chariactures of nightmare. Gone or dissapeared is most everything which once bestowed comfort. All that is left is a prowling jaguar, lonesomely skulking for its past glory. The mouth begins to move, as if to release a vocalization disparaging this disgruntled state, but stops short as its uselessness is brought to light. A glance to the other side of the bed. Gone is the thoughtful companion, as the fingers trace the absent curve of her wondrous bodies, memories filling the vacuum of reality. What is in her place are technology's failed abortions of companionship, a phone and three remotes. One for the tv, one for the cable box, and one for the dvd. The power cord for the cell phone reaches into this edifice for nocturnal confinement, like the forgotten child of a Dali painting. The lungs fill with air then collapse again. Death's embrace was near again last night, as the soul ripped free a few more of the mooring lines, one could almost swear it could have slipped loose and meandered out of the body. Yet conciousness was here when morning came. Some would call it a home, I call it an adorned prison cell where I sleep. I find the board shorts crumpled near a closet full of things I cannot name. I put them on, the good feelings of times long past make a slight resurgence, then beaten down as the cold threatens to engulf the rest of the body. Aimless feet plod towards the bathroom. The haggard face and mad scientest hair reflect the grim misgivings of the owner, as the toothbrush makes its daily monotonous trek. I scrounge the first t shirt I can find, noticing how the favorites had disappeared slowly over the years. I move towards the kitchen, slowly as to not make too much noise, and disguise my presence. A voice raises a question to me. Damn, i have been found. I do not respond, i do not turn, and I do not speak. Silence is my warmth and my security in this world. It is all I want from it, and all I have to offer to it. Silence is my equity.

I was at : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,