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.