you write older than you are

as if

the ink in your veins

was of another era

she said

why bother with words

only the dead would love?

but I kept typing

on and on and on

without listening

because I like the dead and their ways

they remain in silence

they let each word fill the void

like peals from a cracked bell

ringing in a broken cacophony

as best it can

til it falls through the tower

to the ground below

and rests