there's this bit of sadness in me that i speak barely of, 

if rarely,

if never of and i just swallow it up.

bold and constrasting dreams beam on my outside theatre silver screen,

picturing,

the blocks of white chalk as they drop.

walk off from my imaginary mirror,

crying in dispelasure from the smile i can now not measure.

holding my jaw, what am i to do without you?

you're crumbling my speaking tool,

my loving mandible, my sustanance taker.

wake and baker, eloquent speaker, cum taker.

the cut of my speech in these damn dreams,

horrors of lock jaw,

just to express my most raw.

and when i cried and gripped my face, you saw, 

how i wished to say what i've always wanted, without mental law.

and when i do i'll wait for the leave,

or i'll wait for the return. the correspondence, and the conversation.

unwire my jaw with me, and to you i'll speak everything.