I write for every time I cannot speak.

For the nights where a whisper will shatter the silence

And the shards will pierce my hazy mind.

For the days when the curves of my lips cannot being to shape

The words I can shout on paper.

The mark of each letter, the trace of every line

Is a gasp, a murmur, a scream.

My voice is heard through the peak of my pencil

And that is why I write.