It came back it came back it came back

My voice is not screaming or howling to the moon

My voice is ink in the fingerprints and tears on the dry skin

My voice is made of sighs and grimaces.

And it’s to say that it has finally come back

At last, I can translate these torments that had me imprisoned in my dementia

And it’s a joy that silences those pains that feed on my definitions

God

All I want to do is write the word it came back while between each vocal you’ll see me dancing with my arms to the sky thanking for the happiness of once again being able to unite sentences that alleviate this torture of staying alive.

TA.