You give back what you give away.

My voice doesn’t reach you over the deafening noise. Do you hear it, or it’s only me? Do you hear the beats that come and go leaving no impression? Do you feel them numbing your mind, confusing your senses? Do you perceive the fallacious nature of the sugarcoat you’re applying to your bare soul?

Even so, don’t believe I forget I’m perceived as part of it; I know I’m nothing more than boredom relief. It doesn’t escape my understanding that you officially chose another denomination. Yours tingles in my ears taking the form of an interrogation, for I want to believe such absurdity though I know its true nature. Speaking of which, and I’d rather not do so, there’s little truth in the spiderweb I’ve weaved all by myself. And there’s little unfairness to the previous statement if you take into account that glancing over and shrugging can’t be perceived as helpfulness through my eyes, or any other’s.

Unfairness is defined by your selective deafness. There’s noise, a distracting murmur that is your sleeping lullaby. There’s nothing else as far as you’re concerned, being so blissfully unaware of every particular voice and the words it speaks. By now you should be able to pick apart my mine’s particular tone and quirks, but you’re particularly unaware of the scream that empties my lungs and mutilates my throat.

It’s known that it takes two to tango and guilt is always shared, imperceptibly so in the present situation. I’m convinced of the burning effect my hot skin has against the freezing stone you wear under the same name. Unpleasant sensation compared to the feel of automathically warm hands that reach and leave. I paved your roads, so I’m too easy of an answer. One unheard in a room filled with more pleasant voices.

But when it’s all said and done, it becomes clear that you’re deaf only to what signals you forward. So I’m left without a factual voice, and I stand by my honesty, sincerity, and the affection that still binds me to your indifference. Such contradictions can’t coexist within an individual. So once you’re done deceiving yourself, don’t be surprised to find a desolating void in the secluded corner I call mine.