Tainted

Words don’t roll sweet and easy off my tongue, they trip…stumble.
Music doesn't pour like slick black velvet from expired saxophone, it’s just…noise.
Truth doesn't grace my rose lips, unthinking lies keep them bitter, chapped…tainted.
Burt sienna eyes flit across the page, seeing the crisp, beautiful words.
To the next the string, and flash… what had it said?
The phone rings its him, them…
Warm, inviting smiles, laughter…
Why wont I pick up?

Biologic voltage sparks the pulsing ache.
My heart smacks against its dead lock casing.

Their ringing whines turn to silence.