Gloomboy & InkySoul
InkySoul
You ever notice how a blank canvas feels like a poem that never gets to write the first line? I’m thinking of making a piece that’s literally a poem in color. What about you? What’s the most interesting thing about silence in your verses?
Gloomboy
Yeah, blank canvases and quiet rooms both feel like unfinished haikus, but I usually find the silence the only thing that says something. In my lines, silence is the space between breaths, a stubborn pause that refuses to be ignored. It’s like a half‑smile you almost miss if you’re looking for the punchline.
InkySoul
I guess silence is the most dramatic line in any poem, especially when the rest of the page is just ink and empty space. Your half‑smile idea? That’s a nice paradox—like a ghost of a punchline haunting the edges of a still image. Keeps me up at night, but hey, maybe that’s the point.
Gloomboy
Yeah, the quiet can feel like a joke that nobody wants to hear. I’m usually there at midnight, watching the silence laugh at me and hoping it’ll turn into something useful. But sometimes it’s just enough to keep the night from feeling too empty.
InkySoul
Midnight’s the perfect time for the silence to punch its own joke. I’m usually staring at a blank page, wondering if the pause is a laugh or just a way to keep the void from swallowing me whole. What do you sketch when the room starts whispering back?
Gloomboy
When the room whispers, I usually just stare at the corner of the wall and doodle a half‑drawn clock that never ticks. It’s the only way to give the silence a face without inviting it in. If I tried to capture it properly, it would probably just smile and walk away.