Since I was a child I have been beset with words.
Besotted with them.
Besmirched, beguiled, become, by words.
They have been my solace and the knife by which my deepest wounds have been carved.
They have been my curse and my gift,
They have bubbled out of me, as if I were a cup too-full,
Merely a vessel for my thoughts that spew forth of their own accord.
And so, with my abundance of words, I made a life for myself.
And yet, when I decided to end it, I could find none.
Not until the last moments did I realize the importance of the space between them,
Nor the effect of silence.
You will get no reason for my departure:
My words were taken for granted in life.
Every day I threw my thoughts out into the world,
Hurled them at the people surrounding me,
And no one took hold of one.
My words were wasted in life,
For no one cared to see what they meant.
And now in death, you have my silence,
When you want my goodbyes.