My friends’ minds do not blush at their ignorance,
My friends’ ears do not turn red
Instead, their flesh molts as a dead thing’s does.
From purple to blue
From blue to black
From disused to diminished
Their ears hang slack,
And pop off.
They never listen.
On the outside I am a dead thing too.
The unused phrases tickle me pink;
My teeth a sharp whip against my tongue.
And the words parade
But none slip through,
Scotch tape could not
Be as blue.
For I feel my words are not worth their weight in thought
So I say nothing at all.
Oh Silence must be fool’s gold,
Because Nothing gives no riches.
My words are caught like gummy bears,
Stick to my teeth
Sharp strands of hair
On my tongue
The words too long
Too many to remove.
But if I told you:
I am worth more than real gold
Spent on thoughtless friends,
Would you believe me, then?
Inside, I have no heart of gold:
For Gold bends and buckles and thins and flakes
and is sold to friends that have ears enough,
to ignore their slender heart beats.
I am no prostitute