Some days I wish I could talk into voids,
because I cannot tolerate the echoes.
Some days I wonder to myself in the silence
if tears cured acne
or mended masticated souls
in ventilated bodies.
The empty spaces are now a haven for the vermin.
But shouldn’t any creature who comes here
for there is but barrenness beyond the yearning
of the days of warmth of years ago?
Is it the remains of the flesh festering the parasites
to renew the old?
Or is it that life itself remains in grains of hope?
And all this time, I was wrong?
© That Girl in the Fray, 2018. All rights reserved.