i need to hold them in my hand
unweave them in my fingers
set them against the light
and play Sherlock Holmes
instead they build up in my mind
like air in the lungs of children
who want to be the best
i suffocate under ideas and suspicions
why? how? when?
and most often,
who?
unlike air
i can't find the path from thought to mouth
i blow and blow
but always,
i just turn
blue.
