I've never been good with spoken words and maybe this is why
because everything just seems to spill out in rambles and tangents
like trying to follow a scribble cloud as if its a map to buried treasure  
locked deep inside with the secrets and I could never quite tell you,      
not straightforward anyway, how I felt when you sat in front of me,         
but that's not an excuse, and maybe I shouldn't tell you that when I           
see you I feel like I'm being drawn and quartered with every emotion        
pulling selfishly at me but maybe that's just me and perhaps I'm over          
exaggerating the momentum in which my heart holds my head but I         
can't say for sure because all I can hear is a constant drumming…         
constant drumming... constant drumming… and it never stops           
even as the sun sets and you, so far away, somehow crawl into my    
head as if its a warm hearth in the middle of a blizzard, but I am the
exact opposite and if my words don't convince you than perhaps a    
cold shoulder will burn the idea into the soft skin of the arms that used    
to hold me when I cried about those stupid little things that I laugh at      
now and you'd laugh with me, oh that laugh, would fill me with a heat   
that could challenge all the stars in the universe and yet it flickered so      
quickly like a single flame suddenly at the will of a breath that has            
become so shallow and shaken by the tears of something deep inside      
shattering at such an immense speed that everything else is slow motion   
in comparison, and maybe my head is right to think that you're no good   
for me, but don't think for a moment that I could possibly keep you out  
of the mind that has become so crowded and yet you sit in the center of
it all like a king, or perhaps a dictator, that knows he belongs there in
that crowded space just under my ribs echoing with that beat, that constant
drumming that runs through my body like a relentless river as it destroys          
everything in its wake and runs along a silent stream of thoughts and words           
that pour out of my mouth when I open it…                                                              ­

and that is why I am no good with spoken words.