A Simmering Conversation; And A Conversation Never Served

I can taste thin complimentary breath mints in my mouth

Yet the putrid black bile overpowers my taste and overrides

All that I can hear is flapping argot and holes blaring static

As they chatter and maunder easily, classically and refined


My freshened mind thinks of a comedic anecdote, a funny pastime

Yet my throat still manages to choke on last night’s blandest dinner

Try to formulate tragically-told stories of my perfect getaway crime

Yet my Pandora box opens up, my anxiety comes out, a clearcut winner


Those offered pale breath mints turn out to be severely toxic

That disgusting bile turns into another blessing damn to come

I slowly transform into a madhouse patient struck into epileptic

My imagination dips its ankles hesitantly into the waves and ran


And that planned small talk dispels into nausea, gets regurgitated back up

And I try to find my way but stumble upon my chattering useless teeth

The conversation swerves, halts to a skid, their dull stares judge and flat

As I fumble with my tools, trying to patch it back but spit grease in defeat


So when I manage to untwist my knotted gut and spill my overflowing tongue’s pretence

And you tune me back to the discourse, shooting impatient waiting glares and pretending

It seems I’m always the one who’s spouting silliness, talking trumpery, and blathering alien nonsense

Oh dear listeners, I’m so sorry if I have bored you, are the monsters in my head not at all that interesting?


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