Stop. Stop the noise.

It’s all become too much,
and it cuts through the air..
I hear his whisper from the bedroom,
“God, there’s nothing to wear.”

There’s tags still on their strings,
But it doesn’t satisfy,
because he’s a high-class bulimic,
He might as well puke my diamond rings.

Stop. Stop the noise.

“Shut up, stop talking.”
That’s the thing though,
I never talk.

But the noise is like gunshots through air.
Each fractal contracting, then splitting..
My heartache is reducing.
Bang, bang!

It’s spewing.
All the gunshots that rip though his ear.

Isn’t this weird?
Isn’t this odd?

So I begin to blink..
flashing lights that reveal,
my thoughts, life’s plots..

Stop. Stop the noise.

Because they might hear.
And they might care.

Digging ditches on the side of the road..
He wouldn’t listen.. Causing everything to explode.
So I’m filling this hole with every single lie that he told.
and I’m covering them with his limp body.

Stop. Stop the noise.

I wake up and realize,
this has all been a dream..
It was a metaphor,
for my lack of self-esteem.

We meet at four,
Where we planned on declaring the thought of love.
And on my finger is the diamond ring.

I hold a gun when I arrive, 
and the paper with my goodbye.
because this time I’m sure..
it’s my turn to die.

Stop. Stop the noise.