Is the gravel in your voice
from the wars your words wage
before they find a way to your mouth?
Are your half cut sentences
questions you're afraid to ask
or are they answers you evade?
I've been circling around you
trying to peek into every corner,
but it has left me dizzy.
I could be the tomb for your silence,
you can bury your unsaid in me,
my words have died many deaths too,
you see?