Eminently awkward in prosaic propensity, even explicit explanations end entwined in endless enigma.
I speak such phrases that resound in silver clarion within my eyes and mind, yet return to me merely distorted echoes of confusion and poor Chinese Whispers of misunderstood riddles.
I am a stranger in this world and speak no part of any language I encounter.
And I do not understand.
This is me, starting a conversation.
This is me, screaming in your face.
This is me, begging for help.
This is me, bleeding before you.