I look at the pages I cried on
to see for a space
I could fall back to
and push for a sanctity
where there wouldn’t be an ‘I‘
but everyone else that suffered.
I look at the songs that shallowed
when there was no reason,
no justification
for all that happened
and all that would never.
Maybe it was because there needed
a sufferer
who would be left back in a trail
where everyone else vanished,
only to remember them,
only to cry,
only to speak of horrors and pain
that could never be traced beneath
and an ache that’s never lost.
For it never goes, not actually
and when the voices stop
and you see yourself,
just yourself,
you realize how loneliness could be.
If only there was a way
to take away everything that took them away
and push them into an existence
that have realized
what absence could do
and make them whole through the little hope
that this life could make,
if only this breathe could switch places
and take away the reason to cry,
would the world smile a little more?
If only there was such a cauldron
and the cauldron was mine,
would the whispers vanish
when there would be none to mime!