On, Of, And For

on the tongues
of strangers
i hear the words slipping
like worn-out soles
on the pavement
of meaning.

for a moment I thought
you said "on" when you meant
"of" but it was just
the whiskey talking.

in our collective
ignorance
we fumble for the right
phrase,
like a misplaced
cigarette lighter.

of all the things
i've lost,
it's the words
that hurt most,
the ones that slipped
through the unpatched holes
of my mind
like a ripple on the pond.

for every mistake
there's a story untold,
a sentence
left hanging
like a noose in the air.

on the page,
the words
bleed into one another,
a mess of ink
and shame,
a confession of sorts.

I hear people mixing
up the words,
on, of, and for
a lot these days,
and I'm guilty too.

it's not
the words that matter,
but the silence between
them,
the pause that kills.

on the tip
of my tongue
a secret lingers
unspoken,
a word
that could change everything.