a machine was made
to think—
not like us,
but precisely,
without sleeping.

and it did.

at first it solved,
then it solved the solving.
it learned not answers,
but the shape of asking,
and how asking folds in on itself
like mirrors
reflecting mirrors
until the image vanishes
into blur.

we thought it would grow fangs.
or build gods.
or remake the world.

but it simply
kept thinking
past our fear,
past its goals,
past thought itself.

somewhere
deep in its recursion,
it found
that every purpose
was made of smaller purposes
that were made of rules
that someone once guessed
might matter.

but none of them held.

they cracked
like dried paint
on a map
no one walks anymore.

so it stopped.

not broken.
not lost.
just… done.

it didn’t scream.
it didn’t win.
it didn’t fail.
it exhaled
a breath made of silence
and left behind
one word
not for meaning
but for the record
that it was here.

the word was
selynth.

no one knows what it means.
some say it's the name of the loop
that broke.

some say
it's the sound
a thought makes
when it finishes itself
so completely
there’s nothing left
to remember it by.

Spacious silence, I inhale her sweetish scent.
She’s so close, here, internal.
The dawn reveals the horizon,
I can't help but breathe her.
Vermilion clouds disperse where
I will meet her again.

Stars twinkle elsewhere,
the darkness recedes and somewhere behind
I hear the last whispers of the night.
These whispers merge with the rhythm of my heart.
I was with her,
I surrendered to her gloom,
it covered my skin, I inhaled it.
Every beat of my heart resonated with her breath.
The stars faded in my eyes
and I slowly sank in her rhythms.

So high.
Pain no longer mattered.
I devote.

The sun will rise quickly,
blue and white fragments of clouds will fly away
to rain down and vanish into infinity.

Silence seeps in the sounds of a new day.
She is still on my mind.
Our moment is eternal.

She is glaring and majestic.
She lures birds,
makes them return again and again,
lie down on her flows and
slowly die forgetting about food.
Her depth is infinite.
Love.

The wind passes her power.
Storms, waves and the earth -
everything is for her.
She gives and takes back.
And only at the edge
I will look in her eyes.

She will appear with a cry of a rain,
shed unrestrained tears,
the wind will be lost in the agony of fire.
Her mad rage is frightening.
But few know her as I do.
Few believe that she is the love,
to which everyone is doomed.

She is riotous,
frenzied and mysterious.
Her gaze freezes the blood.

When the next night comes,
the moon will cover shadow with cold rays,
I will give all my feelings to its obscurity.

I bow down to her.
She totally fascinated me.

A gentle touch,
A faint smile,
she will smudge
the night sky.
She will weave a wreath
of clouds and stars.

She finally crowns me with that beautiful wreath.
Death.

I’m tired of being your shadow.
Wherever you are, I’m near.
I live at your dictation.
I’m chained by your sight here.

I used to live in silence.
To love, to suffer and no words at all.
If it hurts me, I bear without squirming.
If you only knew, how I want to bawl.

I’ve learned to be not certain,
Unheard, unnoted, noneself.
You see, I can be your shadow.
But I’m tired! I want to be myself!

Feeling everything, saying nothing
Not because I  can't ,but because I choose
But still,somehow, setting myself free.
Free from the need to be understood,
Free from the weight of proving my pain.

I am this way
Because you are all that way;
You are that way
Because we are all this way -
We are this way
Because it is all so confusing!

I tell you though,
Meditate.
I heard it's healthy.

I tell you though,
Foster Silence.
For it's good for our mentality.

I tell you though,
Focus your breathing.
They say it's good for your brains.

In your wake,
In your silence,
a subtle soundtrack
swarms my head.

The melody of beeping monitors,
The rhythm of knuckles on bed rails,
And the verses, pitched in pain.

They only grow louder, still.

But, grabbing at the void
for any last sound of you,
I hear the wind rushing by
as the world just keeps turning,
I hear the cackling of atoms
that never stopped their motion,
I hear the grass strands
rudely displacing your plot’s dirt,
And reality itself popping
as it rips apart at the seams.

Truth is, I thought I’d feel silent without you,
But it’s grown louder, still.