Words

The words, they will not come.

Teasing me, always on the outskirts of my mind
How can I think, with that car alarm going off twice now?
They've made the parameter their home

I sit, I stand, I come, go, lie, lay
And still I cannot move myself quite
Enough to get me where I want to go.

Painful is the intertia; paralysis suffocates
I reach, stretch, strain but cannot grasp the bar
To pull me out of the cement I've poured myself into.

And still, the words, my one tool, weapon, lifeline
To the life I know could be; to describe this state
To form in the air the reality of the world I know exists right along my own, they don't come.

It's there! It's RIGHT there! The bars are open;
The side-step-forward shuffle is all that's needed to escape;
But still I prefer to see life sliced between the black.

It's easier and yet infinitely more painful.
There's a dullness, a flatness; my molecules have slowed down to form a solid state
That won't move. It's too heavy.

Heavy: that's the word. A word came.
Perhaps more will follow; I'm at their mercy.
The words, they hold me at bay, hold me prisoner.

And yet, a word did come.