My hands, a cage, retain a scream,

they blot my aching eyes

and paints contentment on my face,

concealing grief with lies.

 

It knots despair around my neck

then pushes me to smile.

I yearn to speak your stolen name,

to hold you for a while.

 

Memories are its sweetest song,

that it ceaselessly hums.

Your face is scolded in my mind

until the morning comes.

 

But now I’m choked by sorry mouths

who ask if I’m alright.

Reluctant lies form on my tongue;

I won’t speak of that night.

 

And yet there’s something it can’t taint,

however strong its bind.

Your hands, your laugh, which kept me warm

will never leave my mind.