Pen your poetry to the dead who left you behind,
curse the names and faces who left you in a bind,
listen to the voices reverberating in your head,
and forgive all the words that were never said.

Between the veils of silence you live alone,
living in a house when you crave a home,
the dark rushing in like a great flood,
build your nest in the sedimentary mud.

Be all the things of which you could never speak,
construct yourself from the debris of the chaos you wreak,
spend time with giants so you know your true height,
think how it will be better when you go to bed alone each night.