I'm still, as I listened to the ear-splitting silence
I strain to listen to the unheard but it's quiet
I listen to what was supposed to be the wind
I try to listen to my heart beating within
But it's either still or on mute
Everything is moving; I can feel the echoes from
my shoes
But I cannot hear them either they're reluctant or
strict
I fear that I might be going deaf
For I can't hear the sound of my own breath
Everything chipmunks, trees rustling, dogs barking
In the distance is reticent
What could be blocking my ability to listen?
Is it resistance?
No, It's suppose to be my lesson for all the things I
Chose not to mention
I kept my problems away from the public's ears
And forced myself far away from the one's who
Were willing to hear
To be my shrink
And now I'm stuck in the silence unable to hear my
Own self think




















 
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