A word to be heard

I woke up babbling words...

Is it my time to be interred.

Scared that they might be misheard

I strangle them uncured;

I fear, unmisted by love...They may be slurred.

Throttled within me they aspire to be transferred.

I wait to let it be demurred.

Commingle with my thoughts and then be chauffeured.

The day they seek a life on paper reword.

They cede me to a theatre of absurd.

And give this 'psychedelic mind' a reward.