I'm Just Trying to Live


He spoke with silence,

the smokers lived there

Back in black alleys

with blacker, burnt air


But he was trapped

his chords rotten red

with his huffs and his puffs,

he left his voice dead


Momma whispered

"Erase mistakes soon!"

but she never warned

that mistakes erase you


What would give back his voice?

Maybe the angels heard,

they sent thick, ancient liquid—

Water, in word


So he penned honest prose

of shadows and thoughts,

of a child's green meadow,

and crimes that child stalked


The words that he swam in

flowed in water he drank,

they wrote the erased,

and a voice that now thanked


They ask him why does he write

Why's it words that he gives?

He takes a deep breath:

I'm just trying to live


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741