there are days when
you wish you could become empty.
you wish you could be drained off
everything that everyone hears when they speak to you –
the copious stories they call thought
coiled into each other
born from your body and dying slow deaths,
their time constant infinite.
you wish you could be stripped off
everything that everyone sees when they look at you –
the length of skin that conceals
every emotion that flutters your insides
like a wave in the pond
leaving dead fish on the banks.
you wish you could hide in the forest
where silence and wind would sing to you
then you realize that you would still not be able to hide
from the eyes
which pore into you even when you are a tree in the forest
where the stones tell the trees
stories of days past in words of weight and lightness
and the trees respond in shadows and falling leaves;
and the stories rub against each other
to create a violent fire
that will eat through the trees and the stones and your shell
and still you will continue to exist
because no one ever disappears
as long as the fire rages.