Cotton Wool Tongue and a Hollow Voice Box

I want to say, say 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

Posted in Poetry, Silence.

4 Comments

  1. This might sound really weird but the only image i had in my head throughout the whole thing was of our fire place πŸ˜› yes… my imagination is sssoo dead! πŸ˜€

    Strepsils are nice! Accept the offer dewy mooey!

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