My friends’ minds do not blush at their ignorance,

My friends’ ears do not turn red

Instead, their flesh molts as a dead thing’s does.

From purple to blue

From blue to black

From disused to diminished

Their ears hang slack,

And pop off.

They never listen.

On the outside I am a dead thing too.

The unused phrases tickle me pink;

My teeth a sharp whip against my tongue.

And the words parade

But none slip through,

Scotch tape could not

Be as blue.

For I feel my words are not worth their weight in thought

So I say nothing at all.

Oh Silence must be fool’s gold,

Because Nothing gives no riches.

Yes,

 My words are caught like gummy bears,

Stick to my teeth

Sharp strands of hair

On my tongue

The words too long

Too many to remove.

But if I told you:

I am worth more than real gold

Spent on thoughtless friends,

Would you believe me, then?

Inside, I have no heart of gold:

For Gold bends and buckles and thins and flakes

and is sold to friends that have ears enough,

to ignore their slender heart beats.

Inside,

I am

priceless.

I am no prostitute

to

silence.