yes there is a place where i go, surrounded, muted. A jigsaw breaks, the blood, or the water flows... Every stone i own, in the hands of another, Yet in my grasp, or by my side, they stay. useless points of view, festering, awaiting validation. unheard of, unspoken of, except by the presence of another. I hear you, i see you, i smell you, the fluids I can taste. yet here i lay, unable to respond. I feel it, but never can I say. I let this happen as not to cause offence or break the pattern, which was supposedly sent or say things that mean nothing but more reasons to hurt, And yet another reason, to listen.