Alone with my Voice – A Poem

waves of chill

here’s the strange thing

the wicked thing

about living

within yourself



a place that is used to the voice

that belongs to a single person



the space that is brimming

with the leftovers of a worried life

a decaying existence


I shiver in the heat because I am so alone


you become like a tree which folds it’s branches

and all its fruits

within, deep


a plant which lowers itself until no sun reaches its skin

a root which cuts itself burrows further into the earth till it’s lost and has no way back


when a cold mountain sits in that space which was supposed to be yours

all the clouds in your life darken with the weight of water but refuse to let it rain


when the knife which is meant to be your death sharpens it’s blade on the hem of your dress

all the blood in your veins slows to a pace that allows your heart to beat less,

getting slower by the second till it becomes a dry lake


you sit in a corner and you feel the flood inside your head

you look, you speak but whatever comes out is an acid born from a lasting silence


you look in their eyes

but all they see is quiet mindless thinking, darkness, a withering life


your words become your skin but the ink is invisible

you wear your story on your body

but it becomes no armor no shield no protection

no mountain to block the path of sadness

you become alone with your voice speaking into a void

your story becomes the cloth that falls off into a pool on the ground

and you walk to darkness, naked, empty

but by some sense of longing

willing to rain.


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