Falling Objects

My words, like falling objects,
Are subjected to gravity
And hit the ground between us,
Never quite reaching
Their intended point.
My silence is like a vacuum,
Like a black hole;
Everything falls in
And even when I once again
Hear the sound of words,
I never quite escape
The void I left behind.
My thoughts are like shoelaces:
Not one of them makes sense
Without another,
And so I feel an endless need
To explain myself.
I am paradoxical;
I exist in mutually exclusive states
Simultaneously,
And for this I feel a constant urge
To apologize,
Because I have no answer
To what the hell is up with me.



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