I think I've realized that my words are just that: mere words. I may have yearned for them to convey more than sounds, hoped that through them I could help others see, and feel, as I do.
But now, I think I've come to understand that even if I did have that power once, I can wield it no longer.
To the more pragmatic: why I ever thought anybody would care or want to see and feel as I do, is a mystery to me.
So I think I should go in silence then, unselfishly, as when I speak, it seems that I light fires in holy places, and when I sojourn in some tranquil space I carry horrors with me.
If ever I commit suicide, this will be my epitaph.