I am an empty cacophony
of every life I never touched
Every table I tapped away on
because talk is excruciating
Every nail I bit to wit’s end
for everyone around me feels foreign
Every time I let go
of a reason I woke up in the morning
Every hour I was drowning in a throng
without fingers threaded through mine
to keep me sane.
I often chip away
at what could have been forever
The echoes of a million ends
pounding inside my mind
Not quite so loud
that I can’t quiet them in the dark
And carefully let them fade
into the whispers of the night
Yet rarely so muffled
that I can’t be twisted into nothing
by the loneliness of my own making.