Attention

I can’t listen to your life, anymore.

It’s all a fire and noise.

Calm becomes intruder who is

Quickly shunned and exiled.

Drama is not my intention

But it’s what your presences dictates.

It flows like a Shakespearian quill.

The gentle calligraphy

Of your sullen chronology

Tends to blister the heart.

It tends to soil the message.

It’s a far distance

To go from repetition

To comprehension

And you,

My dear,

Lack the patience.

The silence is deafening.