The only words you hear are hushed voices in separate rooms and calls are being declined, I know because my grandmothers hands shake and my grandfather stops speaking out loud, my eyes are never dry during these seasons but you never see or ask why—the poison sitting inside of the orange bottles he gave you blur your vision—you wonder why I hate taking medicine, maybe this is the reason, I refuse to let poison take the sanity out of my body like it has done to yours—there are no more 2x6 boards and nails holding you together, you are free, is this how you always wanted it to be like? Tell me why you become filled with anger when they don’t ask you how you’re doing—is there something that you have left unsaid? Tell me why you never stopped loving me even when I left you to drown, searching for the bottom of the bottle.