tell me

tell me,
what are those butterflies in front of my eyes,
tell me is it my turn to die,
for they won't open
as hard as i may try.

tell me,
whose fingertips i feel when i hold my hand out,
tell me if anyone can hear me shout,
or does nobody care enough
to break these walls of doubt.

tell me,
whose silence it is that i hear,
when i put my hands to shut my ears,
or is it just my own voice
clammed shut with fear?