Static

The flies that keep me up for hours

may be nothing.

But the rumble of the floor, the static of

each

and every

second

is a problem which sends me sitting on my bathroom floor, door

locked

and wanting to read a book. But it's not

possible and every day I awaken to hear the

same static

and my head

aches from sunrise to

sunset. And yet

I say:

nothing.

For I fear of hurting your feelings, you see.

And you'll box my ears with anecdotes

from bygone years and I'll start to choke.

Pride welling up

wishing I hadn't asked.

And you'll never stop talking

but nobody's listening.

But-

But you cannot keep on topic.

But you cannot stop repeating the same thing

over

and over

and over again.

Maybe I'll just put up with it and say:

nothing.