Too much and nothing at all.

When the words spill out.

And they’re all wrong. 

They’re too soon. 

They’re too late. 

When the words are all mixed up. 

And upside down. 

And sideways. 

And backwards. 

When the words get lost. 

And lodged in your throat. 

And bounce around inside your head. 

And burrow in the pit of your stomach. 

When the words are too much. 

Too scratchy. 

Too tumbling. 

Burning and stinging.

When the words aren’t enough. 

And they fall short. 

They are too quiet. 

Too small. 

When there is nothing left to say. 

Before you even start. 

After it’s already too late. 

When there was never any space at all. 

And there was nothing. 

No space to fill up. 

No hope to crawl inside of. 

Always too much. 

And yet, nothing at all.