My ears have been blasted to hellhammer and back,
tinnitus hides in my head when I climb into bed,
and when you mumble at me I cannot hear you.
I’m not deaf, far from it, but my attention plummets
every time I ignore the grayscale tales you tuck
between the legs of my timetables.
I’m able to hear you but I don’t.
I won’t feel what you emote
because you don’t.
Clouds of pale smoke dance around the room,
wrapping around this mundane monsoon
of monotone gloom like a secondhand cocoon.
I could spoon-feed attention to your ego’s guillotine
while you say something to the effect of “ME! ME! ME!”
but I’d rather ignore you willingly and stare at the TV screen.