will it come out wrong?

Photo by Claire Brear on Unsplash

silence dripping down the back of my throat
tastes like purple medicine
saccharine and slightly wrong
childhood strep
soft-hearted solutions
i wake in saturated afternoons
to voices stripped down to wrathful tones
through the aged halls of this mirror kingdom
my heart is misfiring before i’ve opened my eyes
i force myself to rise
and i do it
not on time
so many words for me when my own curl
like weathered caterpillars around my ribs
a chrysalis hopefully
but growing where the light does not reach
someday there will be sound
but will it come out wrong?
like the forgetting ghost with its liminal face
or worse
like an ax and shattered glass
the misplaced step on the staircase
the endless fall without wonderland
nothing learned
nothing but the

drop