this silence

in this tunnel of silence,
where walls don't have ears,
and the wind doesn't have a mouth
to carry stories or speak,
I listen to myself -
the crumbling vessels of blood
emptying their life force
into every crevice, anyhow,
the bones holding forte
as they soak in every scent,
and every breath,
into their marrow
the flesh growing in its fullness,
inflamed with a desire
to consume the world whole,
and this sudden strangeness
of a meeting place
in the middle of nowhere,
where you and I
and all that's lifeless,
come alive,
together,
growing,
disappearing,
resting,
in this silence.