I HEAR THINGS.
Epic Poem, Short Story. About voices inside of my head.
“So You Think You can tell Heaven from Hell?” — The Beatles
Them: “Are you listening?”
Me: (If Only I could Listen…) Yes, what was that again?
Them:
Listen to Me !
Listen to this!
Listen to Him/Her.
Just Listen to Em’ Sis!
“If You don’t do yourself a favor; You Shall Surely pay for This!”
I dare say; “if only I Could Listen.”
If I May;
I rarely Listen, and I must give it to you straight — I have to tell the truth, and you all seem to have some Complaints.
I rarely listen, for reasons, plural — Multiple reasons, Yes.
Be that as it may...
- I faintly hear a word relayed, nor a tone expressed. Whether this be conscious or repressed… If I could quickly push re-play; respond with optimal progress, and relay!
*Ahh,*
…now that would be the day!
By proxy, I believe still my response will be,
“wait,” and/or “what?”
- While multitasking, most commonly. This mustn’t be mistaken as a blatant disrespect.
I can’t hear you. You see me. I’m a bit busy. Feeding the cats, crouching down on one knee. Your disinterest contradicts this entire (me not listening) thing. I will digress.
- Raising your voices? Oh! You win! I’m most definitely going to get defensive. Retract, and purposely not listen. Throw the towel in!
Mental illness may play parts but no, no you’re all right, you are all correct! Coming from You’s, a well put choice of words, you’ve said it to me yourselves…
“What’s wrong with you doesn’t make one completely incompetent!”
…let’s get off of subject slightly here, hang tight just a moment; I’ll make things clear just as soon as I’ve had time to recollect! Ok, ok, I am back. Leaving this here since it’s authentic. I’m getting to my point, but while I’m at it I’ll touch on a bit of prospect.
