Justified (working title)

I can't see you, but I can hear you
on the phone
in that sugar-coated voice of yours
that I last heard you use on me
fifteen years ago.
He is fifteen years younger
by the sound of his voice,
and you call him by an endearment
you used to say only to me.
Yes, I heard it
because I was listening.

You can see me, but you can't hear me.
You can't hear the machine gun of rage
going off in my heart.
You can see me smile at you
but you can't hear me mutter under my breath
that when you say you're going to the supermarket,
you're really going somewhere else.
You don't hear it
because you're not listening.

I can't see you, but I can hear you
through the walls,
through the paper-thin walls
of my own bedroom.
The disrespect of it all,
muttering someone else's name
as someone else's semen stains the sheets
of my own bed.
Yes I heard it.
I was listening.

You can see me, but you can't hear me
cocking my sawed-off shotgun.
You can't hear the adrenaline rushing through my veins
nor can you hear the loud ringing in my ears.
That sound is the absence of reason,
the sound of the dark cloud over my obfuscated senses.
Every atom of my body is cursing you to the depths of hell
but you can't hear it.
You won't hear it

*Written and performed 5 Apr 2008, "Bigkas Pilipinas," Jam 88.3

Sting Lacson

A writer. By degree and by profession. Also strongly advocates ten-finger typing to all writers because that's what you do for a living, so be efficient at it.

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My Literary Side

"The Words come from the Divine; from the Muse the Idea. The Poet merely transcribes." ┼Old Sumerian proverb

(Kidding, I made that up. LOL)