Downward

I spoke without a breath
It echoed all the ones I laid to rest
I pulled out every knot
And quietly abandoned what I sought

They grow from empty seeds
Their roots take hold of me
Sink beneath my nails
A whisper that impales

I move from silent scenes
Cutting out the rivers at the seams
I purge this aching well
As the water fills the place I dwell

Stoic Poetry

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