The words hit the paper like the tears hit my wrists;
The ink flows like the blood from my arms;
The open spaces
Over the page like the terrible voices through my ears and into my brain
And now the voices are quiet
The horror expressed
The fear acknowledged
I am the words on the page and the ink in the pen.
I am the thoughts in my head and the men in the corner.
I am silence.
I am poetry.
I am free.