Glen Binger

Thoughts

There is this sound you make inside my head, zipping through the waves of liquid and words. They form sentences and phrases I've never heard before, but remind me of your voice. Commas squirming in my squiggle infested eye fluid, periods spreading inside of my abdomen, and question marks stamping themselves on the inner layers of skull. I can hear my father laugh in the bedroom. For a moment, I am distracted by it. But then I come back to you. Your velvet voice regurgitates beautifully back into my mind. In the uninhabited shadows I can see my own pupils screaming for help. But you can't hear them. There is this raunchy, vinegar-tasting word caught in the back of my throat. I can't pronounce it. The etymologic phonetics are scraping against my lower tongue and they keep me from saying anything to you. Then, suddenly in the light of my glowing cell phone, I become vivid. I become real. Your name is painted across the inside of my eye lids and your voice is swimming in my imagination. And as I look back, through my rattling eyes, unable to blink and see your name, I realize that these thoughts are only mine. No one else can see them or listen to them. They are empty to everyone; everyone except you. And without you, I can't think. So I will continue to let this sound echo inside of my head because it is the only thing that keeps me from losing you. Your voice narrates my thoughts.

























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