Ink runs down the paper
Like my words are crying too.
I write these for a person.
Someone, I don’t know who.

Thought is so unnecessary,
And yet these thoughts run rampant here,
They rage inside my untrained mind,
My calls no one can hear.

In a room all by myself,
Screeches fill the air,
But only I can hear them.
All you hear is
Stone
Cold
Silence.