There are times I earnestly wish telepathy becomes our generation’s groundbreaking reality,
Or in the least, an undeniable, imminent possibility?
For I’d walk down the street with my heart on my sleeve,
And yet, be at a loss for words while trying to make you understand what’s making me grieve,
I’d exhaust every syllable in my sporadic memory, but fail to ease your face creased with worry,
Because, trust me, there are silences more than words in my godforsaken vocabulary,
Albeit inexplicable in ways I cannot fathom, the voices in my head desperately pine to be heard,
In a universe of their own, they seek to be understood, unsaid; they yearn to be expressed, undeterred.