Words drip from my lips
a steady stream of consciousness
A babbling brook that never sleeps
reminder of a heart that barely beats.
In direct disproportion,
my lips move faster than my blood
As if the streams of sound
that fill my veins
Are gushing out;
A testament to my fading heart.
If they lag,
you know I’m dying.
If they rise,
you know I’m trying
To beat the unforgiving odds
of silence weighing down my tongue.
But if I ever cease to speak,
then I’ve died.
Can you resurrect me?
Pump my lungs with clouds of sound,
and let me rise from underground
From the mud that is silence filling my ears
And wash away all my fears.
Speak to me; let me hear
The sound of your voice,
And restart my heart
with the words on your lips.