Why can’t i speak?
My thoughts are a crash too loud
for me to hold conversation with my head
All those blank faces,
i hold no charm for,
can hear my mumble
but the ones i wish to cherish
ignore my silence
Why can’t i see?
Is the world too beautiful
that only my imagination can resemble the truth
or is this the human way
of dealing with the fright of mirrors?
This is punishment for judging
too quickly, too correctly
Why can’t i hear?
I’m thankful for the escape from bullshit
but gems are hidden in bullshit
Lips are a verbal seduction
but i cannot lip read
When i’m lost (as is my routine),
how will i understand directions
Why can’t i smell?
To suck in a thousand debris
is acceptable for a nostril of sea air
The fetid of boredom i can do without
The smell of breast, i cannot
And if i can’t smell,
can i breathe?
Why can’t i feel?
This is the most damned of them all.