Tessa Denton
Only in me, in silence, do you hear anything – the irony of us.
When you drive you sing so I won’t speak.
Your headphones batter your brain like a locked door
as days are ignorant oblivion behind intentional sound.
You fill the void with noise.
You distract yourself
with a constant flow of information
the studies say isn’t good for your generation
and you’re going to develop a myriad of psychological problems and half of you already have and millennials are telling you not to do what they did and to remember to close your eyes and look away from the screen and
listen
to nothing and everything is ads.
But,
the noise of the silence is fucking endless.
I’ve put you in a petri dish to study while you lament that you have a past.
The worries, how they constantly collide and expand to fill the empty air
like they’ll consume you as a ravage beast, gouging teeth,
if I wander.
You are afraid of me because
in lieu of new noise – I sound a lot like you, don’t I?
CLAMOR 