The Burden I'm Now Condemned To Hold

I write things no one will ever see,
ink spilling like confessions
into a void that used to answer.

I say things no one will ever hear,
words still reaching for you
long after you stopped listening.

Because once someone did,
now they dont.

Once, my voice had a home,
and my thoughts had somewhere to rest
besides the inside of my own skull.

Now they echo.
Now they return to me, unchanged,
like unopened letters stamped forgotten.

I am just a man,
no myth, no legend,
yet somehow still condemned

to hold everything at once.