Waves of sound...

::Poudingpoundingpoundinghead::

I have a headache.

Because of your yelling. Because of your ::screaming/shouting/hissing/spitting/growling:: stupid yelling.

I don't even understand why you were yelling. It's a phone call. It's your daughter's health. Your own flesh, your own blood.

But that doesn't account for anything in this house.

Your ::Music/Yelling/Pointless-try-after-try-and-again-stupidity-responses:: voice is too loud. Thunder-loud. The backdrop beat at a club thump-thump-thumping in the ground/walls/seats loud.

Shut up.

You're going on about all you do in this house.

You sit in the kitchen and play your crap music while you're not doing dishes or cleaning up or remembering you have a family. You hang out in the basement drinking beer and pounding your crap music through the house, making everything pulse with a sickening release. You don't listen, you don't hear me. You don't look, you don't see me. You don't know, you really don't know me.

You're angry alll the time.

Every day of every hour.

No, that's wrong. Every hour of every day.

You're driving me somewhere I don't want to be. And I can't even see me anymore.

I can't even see.

Nothing.

I'm gone.

Fuck you and your crashcrashcrash wavesonwaves voice, with your booming boomboomboom thunder bombs and your loud music.

I don't even know you, and you're my dad.

You're a stranger.

And we're not supposed to talk to strangers.

Maybe I'm not alone, but I might as well be.