My Gift Silence

If I compiled all my crimes and my lies into amnesty, would you come back to me? The small on my lips is a sign that I don't hear you leaving me, that I don't hear my own soul scream. I'll read your lips, watch your scarf play at your hips, and I know it's true, but I don't hear and call to you: "Don't blame yourself, don't change yourself, just want to be over you see and feel numb. (?) Don't hate yourself."