Those stuttered words
hang on my lips. Nearly slip.
Feeling friction as
stumbling they grip a tight hold.
Too scared to be heard,
they climb back inside,
just fiction of the mind.
Timid, like a fox looking for
food in an autumnal downpour.
Those words still linger
A thought once opened
can't be closed like a door,
and those stuttered words
would always be better kept
to a page, never to be let out
of their paper cage.
I know my place, in this world
and to have that happy embrace
is a fantasy that can't exist.
My ears sigh,
thankful that they
don’t have to hear a reply.
My eyes just leak,
gazing off into the distance.
But my mind...
My mind is always
up to his own tricks.
Trying to make me fall
for his games.
So, I push my mind
into a faraway galaxy.
Why jeopardise good things
for misplaced chemistry.
Better to keep
that mind entertained
in a place
of my own insanity.
But he is always there,
where shadows fall,
one step ahead of the game.
He knows what
I'm thinking after all.
Stuttered words
sometimes do slip.
Those muttered refrains take air.
Magic words
fall like a spectrum of rain,
a prism of shifting visions.
Sometimes words fall,
because special is special,
and the future
is out of your control.
Thanks for reading
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