To all the things I have lost:
I scrape my breastbone for dregs of heart,
The tatters of love I give to feed you,
Until I feel the wind within my ribs,
For I held you precious above all.

To the invulnerability destroyed by illness;
To the innocence broken by breaking a heart;
To the future shattered by grim present;
To the pasts ruined by indecisive tremors;
To the strengths sacrificed by sorrows that drown;
To the skills unpolished by rusting doubt;
To the people poisoned by shuttered silence;
To the selves discarded by careless choice;
To soft things inside butchered by selfish hand…

To all the things I have lost:
I blend the blood of grief with tears of ink,
The tatters of love I give to feed you,
Until the well of dreams runs dry
From simply writing your names.