Pour out of me.
Why is that so hard?
My mouth is so empty,
It remembers my insecurities.
And like a fool I become braindead.
You’re talking I see, but I don’t hear you at all.
Hands sweating, heart pounding. This is all too much.
But please, don’t stop. For I can’t yet form my words:
My mind’s in a rush. So keep talking. Please fill the silence.
It’s better than me making a fool out of myself.
Like I always do. Without fail, everyday. Those words my tongue can’t catch, they get in my way.
They trip me up. Mess with my head, and kill my self esteem -as if I were dead.
Maybe that would be better… but wait. Aren’t I already?
I died a long time ago. The minute my brain became sick and dry.
I need relief. Food, water, just something... where’s the supply?
Won’t you give me some of yours? You seem alright.
Healthy. Balanced. Full. And normal.
Your eyes light up when you speak. It’s so pretty.
I can’t do that. My mouth is too empty, while… my mind is too full.
It’s funny right? I know. I’m a freakin mess, right?
At least I can admit it, unlike you.
Who spits out rubbish all day.
Too selfish to see your whole self.
Your true self, along with all your pain.
So, so what if my words do run?
I’d rather it be this way.
So keep talking, friend.
I'll just smile and nod.
For I can’t speak.
I'm braindead.
Remember?
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