Upon realizing I'm hiding behind photographs

It was silent and all I could see were photographs. Of me, of how I see the world. It was silent because it was not me talking but the shapes and colors of the creator mimicked by my lens and shown as my own. Pictures are worth a thousand words but not all of them are mine.


Deafening, this void. Do you see?  How it flows into a direction and ends up where I don't want it to be.