It started out with small, insignificant things here and there

Then my favorite records started disappearing, one by one

I asked him if he’d seen them, his wily answer “nope, I swear”

Then items around the house; that made things seem undone

I took a wrong turn somewhere

I’m not quite sure where, but I know I’m not supposed to be here

There is a place I was destined to be

A life, a path, a reality, that was intended to be mine

I must have taken the wrong job

Perhaps I kissed the wrong man

Maybe it was as simple as missing a bus

Now here I am

I have a voice. The voice, so familiar, sometime deafeningly loud, other times, barely audible; whispering the words.

This voice clutches onto my verses, molding them like clay, but still they’re just beautiful ghosts.

This voice sometimes screams and howls with all the rage of the gravely wronged. It rattles the far corners of my soul.