it is a dry feeling
in my soul and my mouth,
as though speaking
seems too much of a troublesome act
to commit

as though a crime,
to utter a word
or two
or a sentence
or a phrase

so I’ll stay quiet
in hopes that the people by me
will understand --

and if not, let them be
because I only care for you
and you’re the only
one
who can release me
from this
selective mutism.

I’ve been quiet for a while,
silence has devoured me
into nothingness,

I’ve been watching more,
perhaps reading
seems too much of an effort
or an act we’d usually do together,

I’ve been thinking,
about you and the times
we’ve spent with one another,

I think I’ve replayed
the first time
I met you
a hundred times
without any exaggeration of the thought,

and I’d replay it
a thousand more times
if it means
your presence by me.

maybe I’m lying
maybe I’m protecting myself
like you told me to

               I listen to our song
and I shed another
and another
like a tap that’s been left to stream

               my thoughts
they scream
they shout so loudly
they want to converse with yours

               and my hands
they desire yours
and my shoulder
wishes
oh so wishing fully
that your head
would rest on it once more,

               that we’d lie down
my arm around your neck

               that this would all be a nightmare
that you’d come to me
with a solution,

               that I’d meet you
perhaps another time
to tell me you still love me

I was about
to enter
a state of unconsciousness;
relaxed limbs
and a resting head
on a soft mattress
and a puffed pillow,

then you came along
and spoke
to my thoughts
and demanded I write
and listen to you
translate your presence
into free-versed
lines and stanzas

and I always
surrender to your demands.

I’ve missed you  
and writing this
has been long        overdue,

       I gave you my heart
though it tore apart,

you halved it with your words–
       your ever so charming choice
of vocabulary:
       the knife
which shred it open.

Now if I hand you
       the device which
              pumps the air into my lungs
                     and allows the flow of life
              into my veins
       would you tape it back together
into a functioning pump?

or would you        throw it
into the well
and        drown me along
secluded within such thoughts?

Perhaps I
       must ask
              myself
first.

he told me not to speak
with a voice so soft
fueling melancholic atmospheres,

so I kissed him on his cheek
unaware then, that it would cost
my eyes so many tears.