The Voice

Our minds are forever trapped in the exhumation of human ego and social depravity, a disease lingering in the frontal cortex and dripping out onto our tongues.

I ask when dignity began to morph into the ideal of never being alone, and the void answers, ‘because being alone means listening to the sound of your own voice.’

Sometimes the sound of your own voice
is foreign to your perception of yourself.
Sometimes the sound of your own voice
is deafening to the morals you parade.

In the prism of isolation you find the
cutting edge of your truest identity,
amongst every sharp turn in defense,
around the bend of all your worst angles.

Once you come off the high of impulse,
the truth tends to shatter ego like glass.
You become the face of comprehension,
An aware conscience amongst the mass.

– B.

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