fragmented footnotes on self-diagnosis

Endless alarm,
You surround yourself in endless shades of grey.
When there's signs that it's obvious to cut away the chains.
When there's hope that it's easier pushing thread between the seams.
It's not silence, but is it close enough for you?
And sometimes it's easier to speak to no one.
When I counted these mistakes and I feel unchanged.
A memory deeper than the sea, the mother of us all.
With partial paralysis, the shadow turned his lips white.
It's not silence, but is it close enough for you?