The utter lack of words
That no longer flow freely from my tips

Astounds me

For the very fact that I can never shut my rambling lips

I find myself questioning what is it that I have to give?

Cause if you asked to pay rent to live,
inside of this head
Every month would be free
I would ask nothing of you to give

For you would live amongst riddles,
and secret coded messages
I have been trying to decode like latitude
and longitudinal grids

Nothing; if not now or ever
Would make the least bit of sense
© 2013 Christina Jackson