I want to say, say say
I want to say what you want to hear
I want to hear what you want to say
I want to say what you want to hear
I want to hear what you want to say
But,
the words turn to ash
on the tip of my tongue
and I swallow.
Ash-words
taste like dry bitterness
that stick
in the throat
on the way down
I really like this a lot. I think it’s the kind of verse that would sound fantastic put to music
Do you need a strepsil dear?
This might sound really weird but the only image i had in my head throughout the whole thing was of our fire place 😛 yes… my imagination is sssoo dead! 😀
Strepsils are nice! Accept the offer dewy mooey!
Parasputin is on to something.
It has a real Fiona Apple feel.
You write of something so universal yet so unique to each of us.