Your words are like mud to me,

Worthless, filthy and obnoxious.


Your words make a hushed sound to me,

A faint whisper of mangled meanings.


Nothing you say I can take seriously.


For if I ever tune in to the buzzing whispers,

All I hear is tiny white lies; bold insults and bullshit.


So I fade you out into a thinning hum,

Regretful I ever tried to listen.


If your words had a color they’d be shit brown, you see?

They’d be a liquid to display your cowardicy.


I can see your words being sloshed around by people’s shoes.

Wiping them off on the pavement,

Leaving streaks on the cement.


Why do you bother speaking?

Especially straight to me.


Mud, such a bothersome substance.

No wonder I associate you with pure mush.

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