synesthesia

You say you can feel the stillness
in my presence. And I wonder how,
for my world seems anything but still now,
as I am spun round and round, in the vortex
of a swiveling darkness that only grows
in abundance. My eyes don't see to see,
my ears don't hear to hear, my feet don't feel
to feel the semblance of ground. I hurtle through
a black inferno that dyes my spirit, I dance a song
without words, my icicle hands hang
from the frozen silence, their weapons laid down
upon an uncertain battlefield. While thoughts,
questions and memories rip the heaviness,
the only pinpricks of silent stars exploding into
the fragrance of a darkness that has to be lived.
Still.