I wish I could talk to you.

Respond to all the gunshots you fired at me.

Explain the constellation of pockmarks crowning my mind.

But I am just a shell of what I used to be.

Flimsy.

Fragile.

Empty.

You can’t hear the roar of the ocean

Feel the spray of my misty eyes

Taste the wind rushing from my mouth into your ears

If you don’t pick up and listen.