noise
When you’re by yourself for a long time
My thoughts become very loud.
But they never seem to go anywhere.
What’s there to think about when there’s no one to talk to?
If I started to write them down,
Would they go anywhere?
Or would they just keep looping
Incessantly, molestingly, endlessly?
How do singers turn words into melodies?
What comes first? The music or the melodies?
The doubt or the impulse?
People talk to themselves so they stop hearing
The voices in their head.
Art is supposed to be the lie that shows us
The truth. What, then, makes the truth that is
The truth? Science? Boring, sterile,
Lifeless?
What, then, is a lie but life itself?
