The midnight came
With a glowing full moon
Nothing about it tame
Cascading light into my room

The world fell silent
Not a soul in sight
As if every star in the sky was compliant
In this conspiracy of the night

The peace engulfs me
Taking me into a serene state of mind
The sound of the waves of the nearby sea
Finally audible after a day of being undermined

The possibilities endless
Of what I could do with this time
With a holiday from a mind that’s always restless
I could dance, sing and rhyme

The calm lonely night
Threatens to disappear as soon as it began
And as I wake up with the sun shining bright
I wait for the midnight to come again

in better times, I remember I
began getting quite arrested, like
a ****** susp., by
Harmonía, which keeps serving
to this day as a source of both psychic sunlight
and real enjoyment (sometimes)
which is somewhat funny co[ɑ]mbined
with the fact it was a summer month I
started getting more in—volved in thI̲s diversion
summer twenty fourteen
which means she's something I have bE̲E̲n exploring
for... um... already more than
a decade, like rotten souls of autocratic rogues
["decayed"]
but it's a mite bigger story
given the fA̲ct I'd known
and been sort of into her some years before then
she can be so diverse, from natural
to artificial & including parts of both
plenty of heartbeat types & tempos
and vibes: from nice & mellow
to harsh & evil, from bright to dismal
from refined & regal to energized & feral
she can pep up automotive-buzz-replete strolls
she's there for you in times you feel low
and any kind of insult is something she won't
ever do, unlike a lo[ɑ]t of people; I can hardly be called
jolly, like a harlequin lo[ɑ]cked within walls
of a go[ɑ]ddamn mental
["Harley Quinn"; "Gotham"]
asylum, but I'm undisputably
glad there was an o[ɑ]pportunity
for me to be introduced to her
and all the gO̲O̲d 'bout her cited through the verse
is why I'm glued to her, like a woman's fourth
point of contact
["glutes o' her"]
not a single day of mine is thrO̲U̲gh sans her
but if you think I'm alluding to[—]wards
a close other, you have sure
misunderstood the verse (some of it)
[Unlike Pluto has a tune being, as it's stated by him, "a love song as a metaphor for alcoholism"]
[it's called "Ethel", which is a homophone for "ethyl"]
————————————————————————————————
for I'm not one with a people-oriented frame
of mind, but a music nerd
with a broad extent of taste
for music, but one whO̲ prefers
mostly middle-paced
and boomy forms
of it, such as midtempo bass
midtechno, EDM glitch hop, moombahcore
drift phonk "*******", like a *****'s brain
moombahton, & 2000s reggaeton
but some years ago, when old & new reports
of injustices of the human world
next to the discontent of daily adult-hood were serv—
—ing as ****** fuel in terms
of the ignition of the stupid urge
to get something (boo!) destroyed
to bring against injustice-contributing jerks retribution earned
a craze for more dark-sounding, brutal sorts
of tunes was formed as a substitution for
destruction, like any amusement's purp.
["distraction"; "purpose"]
along with music, another gO̲O̲d means for
getting through the murk
has been, like when a whip's coming thrO̲U̲gh keen curves
sideways with its wheels sliding through the course
of it, creative writing, putting words (mislead)
["creative riding"; "ᵖᵤᵗᵢⁿ words"]
into this seductive-looking form (indeed)
————————————————————————————————
and I really was thinking after the last-done work
(that killing joke tale)
that I won't manage to craft one more (usual thoughts)
took 3 & a half months burned (for the most part)
and the thought of o[ɑ]bligation to wha[ʌ]t's been saving
me from ending up in a darker place in
order to undertake an—other rhyme creation
(hopefully not the last one, but I can't be sure)

I could be talkative if I wanted to
but I worry that I might say the wrong thing
or say too much
or be annoying
I don't want to be annoying or too much
I don't want to burden people with
spewing words out
I don't want them to feel obligated to listen
so instead I shut my mouth
and become the quiet kid
therefore I won't be bothersome

I am full of life,
a burst of color spilling into quiet corners,
a voice that fills the empty spaces,
a presence that reaches out—
not to take, but to give,
not to demand, but to share.

And yet,
they pull away,
not because they don’t love me,
not because I am too much,
but because they need the quiet
the way I need the noise.

Still, the silence stings.
It whispers lies—
that I have said too much,
felt too deeply,
loved too hard.
That I am the burden
they do not want to carry.

But that’s not the truth.

The truth is,
they step back because they must,
and I stay, arms open,
learning that love is not measured
by presence alone,
but by the space we allow each other to breathe.

So I sit with the quiet,
not as an enemy,
but as a lesson,
learning that I, too,
can be whole in the waiting,
worthy in the stillness,
enough—
even when I am alone.