What I Don’t Hear

*Wild Card Post*

From behind my bedroom wall I can smell the tension.

It flows through the air,

Wafting under my door.

It’s metalic and strange,

But all too familiar.

Yet I don’t hear anything,

I’m not supposed to, it’s 2 am.

I’m in bed, asleep.

.

Heavy, frustrated steps send vibrations

Through the floorboards.

They’re calculated, each one has a purpose.

Irritated and annoyed,

They make my bed tremble

Every night.

But I hear nothing,

I’m asleep.

.

I can see their faces,

Red and angry.

While hushed voices battle a war

In silence.

A war that never finishes.

But I hear nothing,

I’m asleep.

And quiet.

.

I’m quiet when I feel one room

Seep into two.

Any connection exhausted,

And filled with comtempt.

With traces of sorrow whispering through

The soundless house.

But I don’t hear anything,

I’m asleep.

I don’t hear the quiet that sounds like a

Coffin.

Or the hostility that sounds like our own

Personal battlefield.

I don’t hear the packing bags

Clanging keys,

Or the door swing shut

As she leaves.

.

And in the morning,

I don’t hear strain in the voices

Of the perfect family

Suddenly back together,

But distanced even further.

I hear nothing,

I’m asleep.

This is all a dream

I can’t wake up from.

.

-The Splintered Pencil