Unheard Static

I said the words. They slipped out

thin and cracked, caught in their eyes,

scanning for a pause, a door to close.

But my voice—bent like a broken wire—

was static to them.

They looked past me,

faces locked in half-listen, eyes flickering

like a bad signal no one wants to fix.

The truth I held dropped

silent, too heavy for their dry hands.

And there I was,

talking into the void,

watching meaning fracture

like glass underfoot,

shattering where no one sees.