You’re screaming,
but I’m breathing silence—
your voice stripped raw,
just echoes grinding
against hollow walls.
I’ve severed nerves,
burned bridges,
closed the door
on your bleeding theatrics.

Your chaos
used to seep through my skin,
crawl beneath ribs,
infect every heartbeat—
but now
I’m numb
to your poison,
immune to your infection.

I no longer hear
the pitch of your lies,
your truth distorted
in feedback loops,
a broken frequency
I’ve chosen
to tune out.

Keep screaming—
thrash, bleed, act—
I’ll watch,
unmoved,
as your noise becomes
a fading pulse,
a flatline,
the quiet death
of your final show.