The writing curls like silver threads

Which bend and knot and tangle-

Fragment into a million shreds

It is with these I wrangle.

The words do not assert themselves

They fade like rings of smoke

A whisper lisps on wisps of wind

From a voice that choked and broke.

It is a world of words that haunts me

I cannot make it mine

I make these crawling scrawlings

But all they do is rhyme.