I used to make my words dance for you; now they won’t obey me.
I like blaming you for stealing them from me.
When, in fact, it is me who scattered them all around like meaningless pieces of a smashed mirror, once supposed to reflect the image of my soul.
But how can one reflect emptiness, nonexsistence, a painful lack of something.
Long gone are my words, as gone as you.
I tried to put them in places they didn’t belong.
Now I pay.