My voice doesn’t reach you there
But I know you hear it
My screams get numbed
But I hope my silences scrape you

a forlorn attempt to hold you
a whimsical endeavor to outgrow you
my memory poisoning my dreams
your absence obscuring my senses

when sunlight enters, I see
the bright light mocking me.
A voice always calling out to you
doesn’t matter it’s day or at night

Morning is meant to illuminate
not to succumb to dark.
Collecting souvenirs of wretched soul  
my voice eventually chokes to death.