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Silence.

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Silence.
It’s the numbness of time.
The deafness of a heartbeat.
The wishful thought of one who
Has just slipped through very delicate glass.

If I spit in your face
Would you just let it go?
Like a silent TV show
You scream but I don’t hear you.

If hate wasn’t loud
If it didn’t mean ears bleeding of drums
If it didn’t mean the tears that
Wept the most,

Then we’d love it.

Silence.
It means that I want you.
It means that if nothing was left of me
You’d be nothing too.

I’m waiting.
So why do you let me linger here
And in the end wish me nothing?
What am I supposed to say?

So when I turn away
And cry without noise
Don’t blame me.
You can’t tell me something like that

And expect me to reply.

I wish the world was silent.
Then maybe I can hear my thoughts
And organize what’s left of hope up there.
Maybe I can save the pain for later.

“I love you.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“Can’t you fix this?”
Silence.

You’re lucky the noise isn’t a disturbing cry
You’re lucky it doesn’t mean cruel speechlessness
That you hear for the rest of your life.
You’re lucky that it only means you’re reading this
Without saying a word.

“I can’t fix it. Your child is deaf forever.”




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