It kills me to think
that I need to drink,
so I could spill the truth.
But why do I feel ruth
when I look at you,
when I’m the one who’s left without a clue?
I’m the one who’s lost
who’s been tossed around and crossed.
I’m the one feeling pain and hurt
left with nothing but stains on my shirt.
No evidence of you or us,
so why’s a voice in my head reminding me of that day on the bus?
Why do I hear your laughter when I can’t hear your voice?
And why does this other voice keep making my choice?
It’s like a drizzle of good memories.
But then there are a lot of bad chapters and their summaries.
So again I ask why this voice keeps getting me back
when it knows I was almost back on track.
Living without the pure thought of memory
my head was a blank directory.
That voice filled the pages
left your name like traces.
Loved how I got to know it.
Loved how it played how it fit
with my darkest hour.
I was lower.
Not at the voice, but at myself.
It just helped me recognize oneself
of my soul that kept dying.
Because I wasn’t true to myself, I was lying.
So then I understood, why the voice was a help,
when even I hadn’t heard my own yelp.
It was silent when all the other voices were loud.
It turned away the memory-cloud.
I could hear the truth, I didn’t need to peer.
The darkness was there, but it was clear.
I was at peace.
I’ve let the voice increase,
and then I knew where it came from.
It was the voice of silence and even thou it was numb.
It spoke louder then all those lies and fake cries.
Gave me the gift of peace with no prize
but took the remedy for sadness.
Someone would think it’ll lead to madness…
but it didn’t.
Even though happiness was hidden.
I was left alone without a worry,
so I’ve left all my thoughts for it to bury.