Solitary Words

The spectre of their memory followed him,
took his mind into its hands,
wrapped it in fleshy shadows, watched him react,
asked him about life, heard him say,
again and again,
that he would not speak naked.

The emptiness would not kill, would not hurt his mind,
would keep pushing little pebbles towards him
and watch his eyes grow wide with surprise,
and his hands clutch at his thoughts,
so common that no one glances at them.

His hollowness echoes in the vacuum,
the shadows draw visions of his despair,
he lies back and cries for no reason.
Soothing voices caress him.
They love him and lift him
and he keeps crying,
too ashamed to face even himself
in this state of death.