Speaking is choking for you,
Your lips trip over words caught in your throat,
Their edges cut as you spit them out
And let them drop
You stand, your eyes half closed,
Your mouth half open, your friends half-forgotten,
Your world screeches to a stop,
The words grind out
With irregular
Patterns and
Inflections
Misplaced and pauses
Halting
And lilting, and
You can't
Breathe
You force out the closing thought.
The world has grown tired of waiting,
Tired of wasting the time you spent
Chained up by your own vocal cords.
Communication is hard enough as it is, anyway.
