I try to speak from my heart,
but there's no "heart" from which to speak.
This mass of muscle residing within my chest,
is only there to keep me alive at best...
for it is tired and weak.

I try to speak my mind,
but it drowns in a sea of hydrangea.
Perhaps it serves me well as an anesthesia...
to dull the pain that wreaks.

I try to speak with my hand,
but the words won't come out right.
Early stages of arthr won't allow me
to  write... for he contorts its speech.

I try to speak with my mouth,
But my tongue has been tied.
Like the heart with no love.
The mind devoid of thought.
The hand without muse...
all have died.