Imagine, you had sung

I listen silently, quite numb.

A broken heart fills

the shattered glass

from which I drink a

blessed, but savage wine

that soothes and burns as it

slides down my self-silenced throat.

Nothing more to be uttered,

the end of language,

it only causes fear and pain,

the bile that comes forth

is the nadir of vile,

and my teardrops

turn to a torrent of rain

to disappear into the gutter

and never reappear.