I hear a melody in my head,
A song, and poem with an end.
The end is near as I command.
Left to be read by the living soon to be undead.
My poem,
Oh my song leads only to rotting flesh.
As my word are venom to your bread.
There no meaning just the ramblings of a mad person.
I am so mad, so tired, I sometimes seek death.
My heart shows no ache to the blind,
My voice shows no fear to the deaf,
My trust shows none to the shallow.
For my words are not a peace offering.
No, just the shovel.

The shovel for your grave.
Though I won’t dig,
But you will.
I did not undue you, but I began your undoing.

sometimes i wish i was deaf. then i wouldn't be able to hear your heart wrenching criticisms. sometimes i wish i was deaf. then i wouldn't be able to hear the failure seeping from my throat. sometimes i wish i was deaf. then i wouldn't be able to hear the harsh taunts of silence screeching in my ears. sometimes i wish i was deaf

Hear my simple words
Hear my loving kindness
All starting to fade from my mind
As it easily started to slip from my hands

Do you love me?
Will you assure me this much?
Because I do love you.
It is you

You.
You that I wish that hate but never could
Oh my love,
Your hate it kills me

Let us pretend that we'll make it out alive,
Stuck in the middle, show some decency or pride
but not both
Your reputation is at stake.

Head is pounding, sound is ringing in your ear.
Deaf to the music, but the dissonance is so clear.
How do you plea?

My father tells me what should be my first memory of hearing:
A car scuttles up the gravel hill in front of the home I loved.
I drop my chalk and run to the end of the driveway,
as if I am chasing the exhaust of fumes sputtering out the tail pipe,
wondering what on earth is that strain of air
since I was not given sound from birth.

At my testing, the audiologist put me in a soundproof booth:
The ocean has forgotten to pull its stitches together for the life of it.
I want to scream that I feel like I am drowning
as the waves tormented me into debilitation,
kicking for a gasp of air, just anything to break the current.
I cannot keep myself afloat.

My friend’s voice is the most beautiful I’ve ever heard:
Her laugh makes me want to jump in euphoric joy, like she’s dosed me with ecstasy.
I can see her smile and it speaks all the words I don't need to hear.
When she repeats a story for the third time, I do not mind
that she trusts me with her voice and her whimsical light
since she is the only one patient enough to put up with my aggravating nuisances.

That night at the David Gray concert, my God what a beautiful night:
I am so familiarized with the stretching of violin strings and guitar plucks,
Gray’s hypnotic vocals roaring into my heart with the bass thumping
into my disabled ears, rendered quite useless until I have tasted such delightful surprise
with so many of my favorite noises encasing me into their world,
that I have forgotten my own disability.

It peeves me when I am with others:
The muffling of girls whispering once the lights are out;
my stepfather keeping the TV volume low and does not provide caption while the movie rolls;
how I answer the question with the wrong response and receive confused glares.
I am a lonesome tree in the woods
with no one around to see my inevitable fall as the fire plagues on.

A technical transition last July:
Misery trenched my mind as everything rang louder-
the shuffling of my hair against my ears bothered me very much so;
I heard women talking from three tables over at the pizza place.
First given nothing, now having too much,
I am not appreciative of all the sounds in the frantic tussle of daily life.

A forest begins to chill at four o clock:
The leaves flutter on the terrain in a dance no one knows,
the sun warms me in a song with lyrics I can’t comprehend.
I am relishing what is given to me, that even though I am broken,
I still realize that I would much rather be deaf
than to ever go blind.