Words, I am short of;
They escape me, frequently,
like a tide that’s aimless.
I throw them on a wall
and they bounce back behind me,
Into the pit of darkness
that I had built long ago:
unnecessarily.
Words: they mock me.
They talk to me,
walk with me,
laugh with me,
laugh at me.
I doodle and crumble,
I paint and stumble,
I write but it fumbles.
Funny, my words.
Your words, spoken last fall-
they ring still;
my words, they’re dying.
