“Miley, you’ll be the great big blue bird in the city,”
He said as he rapidly twisted his thumb over his fingers,
Not able to articulate that my name is actually Emily,
But putting the letters in an order of his own,
Giving me the greatest compliment I’ll ever receive,
Even though it’s meaning is still a mystery to me. 

You see, that was the last I would ever get to speak 
With him, my most brilliantly authentic friend.
Schizophrenia is one hell of a riot. 

Did you know they still prescribe Electroconvulsive Therapy 
When nothing else is working as quickly as the mind
That sharply rearranges letters to create new words,
That makes poetry out of every thought, 
Throwing out phrases gilded with assonance, consonance,
And even alliteration better than any wordsmith? 

I’m not saying it doesn’t help some- 
What kind of expert am I, 
Having only worked in the field for a year?- 
But I do know that now he can’t even

Talk.