Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the valleys of the threads of my dark grey sweater that smells like stale cigarettes.
Where everything is soft like worn leather but everything feels like splinters.
It’s disappointing, isn’t it? The air is thick as smog but it’s easy breathing because you’re used to it. You can close your eyes or open them, either way, it’s dark.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the nooks of my wrists that are dry like chapped lips.
Where blood runs in thin lines like dental floss but everything stings like cavities.
It’s very sad, isn’t it? The ground lacks love but only hatred tends to it because it’s the only inhabitant that lingers. In these parks, self loathing grows like weeds.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the dark alley ways of the unfamiliar city in my thoughts that only spark interest at night.
Where everything is cold like noses in wintertime but everything makes you sweat.
It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it? The pavement is slick like it’s just rained, but you walk steady because implied tightropes are inevitable. Stumbling on sidewalks is a lot like slurring your speech.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the basement of my throat that burns like a shot of whiskey.
Where words jam like friday’s traffic but everything flows like fabrication.
It’s disgusting, isn’t it? The walls are closing like big velvet curtains but you plaster them with paintings to make them pretty. This room was always born for being decorated.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into every locket. Into every liquor cabinet. Into every favorite pair of jeans. Into every corner. Into every attic. Into every cave. Into every town. Into every ocean. Into every promise. Into every secret. Into every open end.
Where everything echos like empty hearts.
Because all I’ve ever known is silence, and for you I’ll never tell my tale.