My silence deafens you. It hit’s your ears so hard it causes perpetual ringing, so you justify your discomfort by telling yourself that it’s because of me, my silence.
Strange how silence now becomes the scapegoat for your inability to engage with me,
this is your engagement with me.
Without me saying a word, you’ve come to the conclusion about the source of your discomfort.
I am who I am because I am silent, you are who you are because of your noise.
The literalist takes this is by concluding my silence is a door mat for people to tread on whilst in reality it is noise that has become soiled with that which is impure.
So whilst I am an inconvenient spider in the room that you just can’t reach to squash, your fears, discomfort, anxiety, restlessness all becomes conveniently your source of solace for you to reconcile yourself through me.
It is as if we exist, the fringe walkers solely to justify you. To make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside because no one has ever shown you how to be all warm and fuzzy inside, so pass the line around, snort it up and keep chasing those temporary highs, we’re not going anyway, make yourself comfortable on our backs, we’re happy to remain in the shadows.