Can you still be heard in those silent walls?
Do they still feel charged with your voice?
The violence within the bonework, across the
Skin, the hair, the smoke, the repulsive air, the
Scent of explosion, temper and falling onto the
Ground, shell across shell, windows bursting, bodies
Running, away, away from you, the things that
Jumped out of your mouth in a devastating hurry.
Are you still there? Is that where your voice stayed?
Is that where it went? The halls of reverberation.
The furniture destroyed and trashed. The animals
Feeling your rage, hiding, seeking your love, just like us.
Beggars, distorted, amputated, disconnected from you
And your conscience that I never thought existed.
The place where I slept, accompanied by every single
Heartache, the wounds that never ceased to end, the
Windows reflecting my grimaces, my hopelessness,
The solitude, and the house got emptier and emptier,
Cleaner and desolate, the history seemed erased, it’s all
In those walls, the desperation, the scrutiny, the dreams,
Out the chimney, I know you’re still there, as he is still
There, you’re in certain rooms, in certain objects, out
Of my body, it had been way too long, I made a choice, I let you
Go, violently, perhaps, that was the language you spoke,
I saved myself, it was an act of love towards myself and
The life that I wanted to live outside of the walls you built.