I have no voice.

My thoughts are dying stars, light-years from our brief contact,

Gigabytes stored at stacked at the crux of cerebral cyberspace.

Their words are mud and sand.

I try to speak;

There's the look.

I have no sound.

I am a muted picture-box, my eyes are black and white and

I can see myself fading into the static.

Can you hear me?

I reach for the volume;

There's the look.

I have no life.

I am a wisp in the willows, the joker of the deck,

A faded blade of grass on a backdrop lost to time.

What am I?

Can you help me clarify?

There's the look.

Again, again, again, again!

I have no mouth

To speak

Or to

Scream.