They watch me loose my footing

as they pass by, nodding their heads,

sharing a weak smile.

My loss of control was anticipated,

yet still I try to seize control over the

Two hollow oval shells

pressing back into my sockets,

escaping the reddening sting of salt water.

I accept the break of the dam on an exhale:

Is Everything This Involuntary?

My words become a persistant march

of cotton down the smooth concaves of my throat.

Choking becomes an inevitable consequence

if I dare allow my voice access to the mute protester

I cradle from within.

The ones who use the prescription meds,

the needles, the blow- they are wrong.

No swollen veins or protuding tongues

will stop the prodding.

They only help lap up every bit of make-believe

a tongue's buds can take a hold of,

orchestrating melodies of my little engine singing

"I know i can't,I know I can't, I know I can't".