what i really mean

the think tank in my mind reclines in their seats throwing out ten ideas while grifters sitting opposite throw beer bottles at their heads. enumeration as a word is attached to a helicopter flying by too quickly before crashing.

i’m just a witness to the garish gargling jumble of half sentences escaping my mouth while keenly aware of sounding intellectually disabled. these moments feel like defeat when there’s no competition, no person other than me attempting to relay thoughts in a roomful of too observant listeners.

i’ve too many times said word for word what i was thinking only for mouths to open and then close in response, confused and wondering how to ask what i mean but in another language. to prevent that i rework the thoughts and form wheel of fortune type sentences that any bloke can solve at a glance even if a few key letters are missing.

somehow i just end up sounding like pat sajak’s inner meme hopped up on helium and molly while singing about buying vowels.

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