When it’s quiet I hear things. It could be the constant ringing, a leftover of a youth full of loud music, a constant background reminding me of cause and effect.
When it’s quiet I hear lists, lists of things to do, things never done, things my heart believes I should have done..
When it’s quiet I hear insults hurled at me… and the clever replies I should have made, had I been able to think through the red fog of rage… and shame.
When it’s quiet I hear my Mom cooing at me, my Dad telling me he loves me, and my sister conspiring with me on mischief planned but never done.
When it’s quiet I hear screams… and shouting… and crying of the lost, hurt, fearful, and sad.
It’s Loud Inside My Head… The Poetry and Prose of A Man Who Feels Too Much. 
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