in other words

whimpers from the room below
swiftly make their way into my bedroom,
their heated emotions smothering my
usual ennui. the raised voices and
simple accusations: our childhood
inquisitions. in this moment
of uneasy existence i realise
the worth of those hurtful words,
now that i talk through
wires and satellites,
now that i walk beyond
the lies we spoke to each other
because the neighbours told us to do
so; nothing more painful than
the absence of puerile conversation.
what more is there that we can do
to separate ourselves from each other,
tell me.