when I speak I'm aware

I can actually hear people growing deaf

somewhere inside I feel the disinterest

and when I write I see the reader lose focus

I know I'm useless 'cause I feel it to be sure

it's a strange thing to see light disappearing

the glimmer of interest slowly waning to naught

that's why I never look directly at you

anyone of you

not even now

when all I can do is imagine a benevolent you

I wonder if it's a special talent I've got

or a mundane unoriginality

I just wish I had the words

to give back any interest I steal from you

and I hope that nothing I say is anything you hear

for your sake and mine

/