This is how Daedalus felt, almost lost in his own labyrinth

I can't speak outside of my poetry. I've sewn it into my throat

and if I try without it, it is only with a liar's tongue.

If I could be effulgent for you, I would. Every moment.

I've got dreams of how I could be and she's beautiful. 

(but)

This

is all I've known, what I've always feebly given: love created with a silencer

so someone out there is bound to be louder.