The eighth sin

Awkward pause
Empty silence
The room it tours
Attack of violence
Wounding all in its path
Imagine the tumbleweed
No one dares to laugh
As a laugh is a distant dream
Twiddling thumbs, tapping fingers
Getting no one anywhere
As the dead air starts to linger
People swap questioning stares
Then the small talk begins
People sigh in relief
Silence, the forgotten eighth sin
The one that causes tension and grief