Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
Abandoned roads and sidewalks.
Run-down shops filled with invisible
customers, homes with no inhabitants.

Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
One homeless man roaming
the streets, picking up weeds
that were once blossoming flowers.

Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
Two lovers slumbering on the road.
No worries, there are no
cars anywhere near.

Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
Three little girls twirl around, skirts
flying in the powerful wind.
"Ring around the rosie,
a pocket full of posies.."
Their voices grow faint
and suddenly, they are no longer in sight.

Ghost towns, ghost towns, everywhere.
I wake up, and
all of them have disappeared.

I'll never forget the day you stopped speaking.
It has remained in my memory for as long as I can remember.
You were bawling because your throat ached.
Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper one last time before you
never once opened your mouth again.

I sometimes blame myself for your silence.
I've made you angry, upset and miserable
to the point where you lost your voice, or rather
your voice deserted you.

So why don't you hate me?
Why don't you avoid my gaze?
Could there still be love left inside of you?

My dear, don't take  any offense to this, but I like it better this way.
Your silence speaks to me in a way your voice never could.
It seems as though we have a better understanding.
There is no more yelling, no more broken glass on the floor,
no more insensitive words.
There is only peace.

Sometimes, the best form of communication is the one that does not require words.