that poem about that one thing

i asked if you thought it was weird

that all we could hear was the sound of that radiator

you told me that it wasn't strange

to not know what to say 

the spoons and bowls are ringing 

as they scrape together for breakfast

"never waste the cereal"

even though it's really stale 

i could barely choke it down

i needed milk but almost drown

and i looked to you and said it's weird

that conversation disappears 

you told me silence was louder than you -

that you never sold me on the thought of you

but louder than the radiator 

was the bowl that fell and fought that silence 

i wasn't sure if i believe you 

(i said) "i need to sweep up the glass"

(i said) "i cut my feet upon the ground" 

(you said) "stop crying the cut is not that bad" 

i said

i'm crying over spilt milk 

i couldn't care about my bleeding

toes that made a bigger mess

the silence seemed so calming then

but retrospect is always late

you asked me what all of this means

i said

i don't know