aphasia

my youth escaped,

and robbed me of my voice.

the debris of innocence

is recoiled thoughts,

only liquid,

swirling ink, adrift, floating,

circling the drain of the kitchen sink

I call a brain.

I must drink it.

the insufferable desert sun has baked

a numbing dryness,

withering even a whisper.

but the loins of my throat clench

to clutch, one drop

drips down the cracking flesh,

it is the remnant of noise

leaking from the silent sea,

into the familiar void.

like school kids wearing frayed jeans

my words play a game of hide and seek.

could this have been an invited choice?

to starve my heart the right of voice?

and where does it all go?

where is the sewage?

where is this vestige of liquor

the distilled spirit of laden tongue?

perhaps I contain

a glass too full.

if only my eyelids would peel open

and water would spill over,

flood puddles and fill a pool.

maybe then emptiness would empty

enough to float,

I could bathe myself in the salty serum,

let it seep into the pores of my sallow skin,

and dream the freedom

to finally scream.