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.
