I Forgot How To Speak

so I write instead

As I toss my cigarette, I look down at the accident on the page in front of me. A mess of letters, scribbles, numbers, and symbols lay before me, and I can't help but smile as I dot my last "i." There is something so satisfying about completeing a thought, even one as chaotic as my own. It doesn't rhyme, it doesn't speak, it doesn't make any decisions; it only yearns to be read. The penstrokes mimic an artform lost long ago, but they speak in ways no man ever could. Like a field of wheat, the words move as they stand still. If only I could say it out loud, then maybe you could hear how my heart feels, maybe you could see my soul. Maybe, you could save me from myself.

Reviews

[Archia]

"Like a field of wheat, the words move as they stand still" I absolutely love that line, it's quite beautiful, like the rest.