Echo in deaf ears

Lost deep in an echo chamber~ where I talked and my eardrums beat ceaselessly, ricocheting voices of ghosts masked in agony, tiptoeing faintly, their feet blurred by the hallucinations roaming the night. The emptiness copied the echo of my voice and sent it far into the dark night~ where some owls were howling and some birds were bedding their young— but they all seemed unperturbed by my grief. It was then I knew echoes do not talk... only faintly whisper to deaf ears. Now, in the dark chamber, I heard the echo begging to be heard by the night— expecting the trees to scream as it pierced their trunks. And the monkeys sleeping on their branches, used to raunchy echoes, to at least stir— but none even kicked a foot to boot the hoot. Then suddenly, the echo dissipated like a foul gust from loosened gut, drifting into that strong, windy night. It was then I realized I missed the thrill the echo gave. So I shouted again. This time, the echo became infuriated— it woke the birds and lulled the owls to nap, made flowers bloom, and the trees swayed to make the monkeys jump~ from branch to branch and tree to tree— a way for them to respectfully welcome the arrival of a new morning... when their noise drowned the echoes of my voice.