i wish my stories could tempt
tears like yours do
but such skills in storytelling
come from the heart
inspired by fear

when i hear your voice my
tongue bites and my ears
call for silence of the brain
so i can wholly focus on what
i might then hear

i know we can't laugh and cry
like we did just weeks ago
so close i could touch it
so far but only by a measure
of the past, where an instant is the
same as a year

reason says move on, now
for once my devils are silent
for i am the only survivor
of their awful ranks
this much is clear

there's seltzer in my skull
pockmarking my bones picking
at my marrow, eating me alive
i know how to fight things on
the skin but how do i defeat the
enemy when the enemy is me?