Fleeting Verb

What remains of a voice once it has burned for someone else? What have love's teeth etched amidst my soul?
A collection of fragments stitched from longing, ruin, scent, music and sound. Each piece a ghost reaching for the warmth that scorched it. Echoes navigating the tender wreckage of desire, memory, and identity through layered, sensory writing.

I am quite unsure of what I'm doing here, this work will be an amalgam of random spurs of inspiration.
The lamentation of a few flaps of skin stitched together by circumstances and attempting to appear human..

Language can be and will be : english, french, italian, german, portuguese - it'll depend on the inspiration that'll come expire on a blank page.