Who knew the voice to be so gentle

an unidentifiable mixture

of a familiar tone and a stranger's


and soothing

making sure I was well

shaking me out of slumber

to then say things I'd dwell on

who's there, I'd ask but no answer comes

as I search the room with the lights on

and every corner, with ears on walls

are you too in there, trapped in warmth

suffocating, from remorse

or a mere ghost

of a corpse

I stop my thoughts when no answer comes

turn off the lights and close the door

and then collapse against the floor

take note of how my fingers numb

against the cold, I hear you still

"there's not a storm where there is will."