I’ve got a message, I’ve got a message I could send
In glyphs and graphemes that spell a howl without an end
But there’s a silence and it’s grasping at a throat
I’d count my blessings, but we both know that I won’t
pretend that it’s a breeze to be my friend
Just please know that in my soul I value all your valiant attempts
So put your shame back to wherever it came from
And sate your hunger, that hunger to belong
There’s something tragic, to be a fraud in your own tongue
I’d call it hiraeth, if my gut knew what that was
to be as sure as mercury
Just help me leave this handshake room through sleight or force or trick or alchemy
Did words breathe sense into our world,
or was it the other way around?