All That's Left

My best friend is my voice,

who calls for me when the dark

seeps through the

light I wear like a cloak

around my shoulders.

When my face is cracked and bleeding

from the whispering of the wind

in the alleyways

and on mountaintops,

my voice soothes the hurt and

blankets the pain.

My voice is my suitcase,

my mirror,

my only.

In broken cities where smoke unfurls like

dreams upon the sunrise,

my voice tells me to smile,

to sing,

to dance,

to pray.

I'm not okay with death,

but I am,

as my voice stays with me.

My voice goes where I go.

It follows the sounds of my

feet on the sidewalk,

and my heart in my mouth.

My voice talks to me when the

wind returns.

It scares away the vultures,

protects my body from the claws of


It smoothes my hair and

rubs my back when the world is

frenzied and bare.

My voice is my only friend

when all that is left are

paper and bones.

Strip away the flesh and muscle,

the mind that overthinks,

and the heart that loves too much,

but leave behind a voice that

laughs in the face of darkness,

and screams amid the silence.


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 I love your poem. ^_^


Thank you!


This is lovely.

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