The Mouth That Does Not End

The Mouth That Does Not End

There is a scream that never leaves the throat,

it folds inward, deeper than breath,

a mouth opening into another mouth,

and another, and another still,

each one louder in silence than sound,

each one pulling the self further inside,

until there is no outside left to return to.

Teeth line the edge of every thought,

white, perfect, unbroken, waiting,

they do not bite, they hold,

they frame the echo that cannot escape,

and the face stretched wide in that moment,

is not pain alone, but recognition,

as if it has seen this fall before.

Inside the scream is a smaller voice,

sharper, thinner, more afraid,

it calls out with no language left,

only the shape of fear repeating itself,

and still it falls, still it opens,

layer after layer of soundless collapse,

a tunnel made of its own despair.

There is no air in that place,

no breath to soften the edges,

only the endless widening,

only the pull toward the centre,

where the smallest scream waits,

the one that began it all,

the one that refuses to end.

You could look at it and turn away,

tell yourself it is only an image,

only a moment stretched too far,

but something in it will follow you,

a faint echo beneath your quiet,

a pressure behind your calm,

a reminder that silence can split.

And when you close your eyes at night,

you may feel it again,

that widening, that falling inward,

that mouth opening without reason,

and you will understand too late,

that some screams are not meant to be heard,

only lived, again and again, without escape.

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