Wire stretches between
But it’s a game of telephone
Inside me
Each whispering to the next

What I feel
To what I know
What I want
To what I should
What I think
To what I say

The final becomes so muddled with decay
Never recognizable to the first phrase
Been on toe so long
My feet might freeze like this
I’m no ballerina
Walking on eggshells
Walking around the mess
But you say so much more in silence
Than words could ever express

So grateful the receiver has no eyes
Blindly keeps the secret of my weakness
It doesn’t know, it doesn’t tell
How the plumbing of my eyes has gone awry
Leaks spring left and right
I only have so many fingers
To plug up seepages of pain

“Hello? Are you OK?”
No.
I regulate my breathing
To control my tone before I speak

“I-“

It’s too late
A telltale sniffle escaped
It’s all I can do to say I’m fine
Without sounding grossly fake