I'm tired of listening

Melancholy, Edvard Munch, 1891

When will I find ears amidst the sea of blabbering mouths?
I've become accustomed to being mute.
It's as if there's a large vault in my chest that keeps getting heavier with no promise of ever becoming unloaded.
I want to live far from here.
I'm tired of offering myself up like some punching bag.
Yes, I find some sense of fulfillment from the whole pseudo-altruism/masochism activity. I guess, part of me would like a shot at being the "unloader."
But I guess we're all called to some kind of vocation.

I accept my fate. Whatever it is.