My ruin

I speak, and my speech exposes me, makes ‘them’ notice me, as X would say. But there was never any way back to speechlessness. So I speak and try to get you listen, no, to speak for me. Wrong again. To speak in a kind of silence. To speak, saying nothing but what you mean to say, which I’ll never understand. Perhaps there’s nothing to understand, perhaps an infinite amount. My ruin. And beyond you? Pointless even to ask.


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