Scream

Crickets are singing their song outside my window. 
A serenade for the quiet night.
Proof of the empty space within the darkness.

No crickets sing inside me tonight, yet there is an empty space.
An empty dark space, waiting, longing to be filled.
By light or by darkness.
As long as is it filled by something.

But the emptiness is not complete.
Somewhere down there, something is screaming.
So deep down you can barely hear it. It is there.

A scream of emptiness.
A scream against all that is wrong.
A scream against the world I live in.

But no one hears it.


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