Stuttering Script

The pill leaves a copper tang on the tongue.

I wait for the chemical gear to click in,

watching the ballpoint skip over a smudge,

a greasy thumbprint where I gripped the page.

I found the old notebook under the seat.

The ink looks like a stranger’s frantic plea,

but it’s the only way to hold the line

when the room starts to feel like a sea.

If I don't scratch it down, the day just leaks.

It doesn't matter if the grammar is broken.

I’m just trying to prove that something speaks

before the final, quiet word is spoken.