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The empty line buzzes like an insect.
I’m well aware of what you expect,
but I’m in distress, frozen
in the spotlight of your stare.

I try to speak, but it’s not easy;
I’m worse than stupid
with what means most to me.
And I know, deep down,
I owe you an answer
that I’m here to offer.

But every time I open my mouth,
nothing comes out.

Now my head is flailing
and words are failing me,
selling me out again.
I don’t know where to begin.
I don’t know where this will end.

You ask your questions, perfectly justified;
your demands are sensible.
But still, I’m immobilized, perfectly tongue-tied,
slave to the brutally rational.

I try to explain, but it’s not easy.
I’m less than eloquent
with what means most to me.
And I know so well
you wait for this answer
that I’d like to offer.

But every time I open my mouth,
nothing comes out.

©2000 Schroedinger’s Catbox