You speak of things that cannot be seen and your lungs fill  up with smoke.
It's been a while since I could see your face,
through all the thoughts and the words
that float around,
making a cloud
meant to scare people away.
I'm not scared. I can hear your voice.
I can see your light and the sparks you make
by trying to set yourself on fire, but don't you know
fire never killed the sun
and the night never gets lost in darkness.
In a room with no soul, the voices come and play
in echoes and in whispers,
and then you start to speak aswell.