Over my coffin,
on the day I die,
place this headstone
as a marker,
place the letter I sign.

Let it speak the words
I swallowed in life.
May it ring bells
in the quiet afterlight.

Listen and learn
of the arrows I didn’t fire,
of the bullets I withheld
that trampled my desires.

The candles I held — for fools
who knew not of love,
but only its lies.
Of my knives once sharp,
dulled in untimely demise.

You must write
of how I died —
of how I was buried alive,
beneath the sand I wouldn’t spill,
under curses I let cascade,
till I was breathing through the rim.

It drips —
grain by tiny grain.
I see it,
but I’m still.
This — my legacy:
silence till the kill.

Place this headstone
as a marker.
Place it when I die.

Tell them silence wasn’t worth it —
wasn’t worth the sacrifice.
Speak until you can’t.
Scream, and claw, and fight.

Don’t let silence write the headstone
of this life you let slip by.