Inside my little bubble

Never tried a rebuttal

I’m always lost in thinking

Never tinkering my wording

I think something’s passed

So, I never dashed for it

Wrong words

Wrong joke

Wrong time

As off beat as a broken metronome

I will grow old in some time

When will I speak with pride?

Maybe as I die

I understand the death of speechlessness

The death of idea’s sadness

The death of my quiet consciousness

Never spoken aloud

Only dead quiet