angst cycle (iii) — [Ʃ] (i)

it’s the kind of sky
where you can look up and shout
and nothing could ever come back

there are no clouds
to reflect the echo
to resound the despair

the slaughter of the voice
will just go on and on
fading in distance

until not even the background noise
will jar a moment in disharmony
not even in the foam