The Art of Saying Nothing

This is me, attempting to say nothing,
but every word spills, tumbling, rushing.
I bite my tongue, but it won’t stay still—
the silence I seek is a void to fill.

I try to hush, to swallow the sound,
but thoughts escape, circling around.
To say nothing at all is a game I can’t win,
for every attempt only lets words in.

Even when I pause, my mind won’t rest,
sentences linger, uninvited guests.
This is me, failing to keep quiet,
my thoughts a cacophony, a riot.

Trying to be mute is like holding my breath,
the silence turns restless, a life unto death.
So here I am, saying nothing yet more,
a paradox I can’t seem to ignore.

I tried to say nothing, but let’s be real—
even in silence, my thoughts start to spill.
For words are a river that can’t be contained,
and trying to stop them is utterly in vain.