Silent Scream

By Anna Christina Loayza Flores

Storms in life that, as we navigate, could bring us to our knees to the violence of their colorless rain and their soundless thunder.

Right there is where the lyrics of 'Silent Scream' emerge. Vulnerable lyrics and silenced confessions.

In every verse, lamentations and cries seek solace.
Words that provide refuge for release, broken hearts, and scars of lost innocence.

 

'Silent Scream' is where youth and reality intertwine.
They leave a mark on the reader's soul, as they did on mine on my skin.

 

It's not a book; it's an experience.

 

The ability to see the grayest of things,
with poetry.

 

That is Art.

 

And this, for You.
Suicides who fell in love with Life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Christina Loayza Flores
• Release date: Sep 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223239536

Anna Christina Loayza Flores

Escritora y Poeta Mexicana que busca Revolucionar la Literatura. "No es un Libro, es una Experiencia..."

Book preview

❦

I’m She Wolf, who had learned to be Solidarity in Herd and Strong in Solitude.

The way that life has destroyed me and the multiple knives that people have given to my soul,

Lead me to rearrange my pieces differently.

Yes, I'm Hurt.

.

❝ ❞

Please tell me that my mind will also heal...

—David Sant.

If life’s a Bitch, let her come and I’ll caress her...

—Tan Roto Brock Ansiolitiko.

My depression changes shape: One day it's as small as a firefly in a Bear's palm, the next day it's THE Bear...

—Sabrina Benaim.

I have played so much with fire that it no longer burns me, now I spit this Pain out of my mouth in the form of Poems...

-Saudade H0lynaight

I was afraid you'd leave, and you left...

—One Fear Less [1] Andres Ixtapan.

❅ Cold.

These times...

Everything starts to go sad because of Cold.

That's it,

just because it's cold.

A cold that's scary, because it's deep down.

An icy cold that my heart feels.

The cold terrifies me because... it's like being trapped in your thoughts,

being trapped in that place where it's SO hard to get out.

An even colder, bleaker place...

An empty place where, despite how much you scream, how much you rip your throat choking on your own tears,

How loudly you ask for help, feeling that sound so sharp and dry inside you,

Seizing the last thing left of your soul, turning it off...

Despite all those attempts, you know you won't get help. You won't get help and even if you do, you will never accept it.

Do you?

You'd never accept that outside help because — what can they know about you? — if all this happens inside without giving you the slightest idea of how you're feeling.

No one will ever —you think—, notice that inside that disturbed head is your shadow,

The Lost Soul that you once were and that you no longer reach.

A little suffering being who desperately