His voice brought back memories
Of dark rooms and broken bones.
His voice rebuilt old structures,
A whipping post with a chain.

His voice crawled under my clothes
And burrowed beneath my flesh
It brought me back to blood-soaked basements
And mattresses that were never quite dry.

His voice threw me into the closet
Hiding in a nest of dreariness
While praying for Death’s liberation
And drowning out the echoes in my ears

His voice brought back memories
Of being paralyzed more often than not
And his voice reminded me
That I will never own the body I inhabit.