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Talking Mime
Talking is contingent on our brains impulsivity to express our thoughts into fleeting words. Mouths filled up with overflowing water, each choke and swallow. Gasping for air but it is a continuous loop, almost as if it is timed to persistently get to a certain volume. Filled to the brim, only then is when you can swallow. Once you are filled up, your stomach an ocean, ready for the tide, sailors on a tipping sea boat, sickness inducing their bodies, holding themselves at the edge. Your mouth exudes tumbling needles , rapidly piercing the tips of your toes, breaking apart your skin. You are suddenly swimming in your own solemn, your own anger, your own fears. You are trying to keep afloat, bleeding in your own misery. The inside of your mouth, fleshy pink taffeta, eroded by the aftermath of your talking. Your gums are spilling venom, your tongue laps it up like it is a remedy. Your mouth could bleed heaven or hell , your eyes could cry sunshine and rain. Talking is contingent on our brains impulsivity to express our thoughts into fleeting words.
