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I am safer in the quiet place I think of you without leaving a trace I've been watching the fog rotate I've been watching the crows crow late Last winter left splinters and Some trees never grow back neither Here or there Prominent gloves are slipped on to lay tenderly While some summer days only Pretend to warm the air I try to stare my feelings into the Ground But actions speak louder than words, And I'm your most deafening sound I'm sorry for spilling like an infant that always Cries as if in constant hurt. Because I know exercising my demons will never work And for picking at my scabs As if they wouldn't release blood and pus In quick jabs When you came into my quiet place Did you know you'd show me your bruises? Because faces turn in grief For the leitmotif, And the crow crows, For my stuttering aching prose.