Simmer down
Every word feels a desperate attempt,
wisps of air that fail to hold weight.
And "you" is just another dream,
another nail to contemplate.
I can't talk, I don't know why.
And does the silence between
ever eat me alive.
Every word, I'm a clean slate.
When it matters, my cognition's on a nosedive.
Some share their sympathies for a pest,
in forms of a fleeting interest.
On isolation fest,
I'm the sole guest as life jests me in
my own fireworks and my own unrest.