Words on the Edge

A friend told me I sound different these days,

drifting like leaves in the autumn's cold grip.

My accent, a shadow, it flickers and sways,

words slip from my tongue, a half-hearted script.

I search for the sounds, the warmth that I lost,

in conversations that echo, like ghosts in the air.

Each syllable stings, a small heavy cost,

who am I becoming? It’s too much to bear.