Dry throat

In my mind the words form.
Culminating, arranging, creating.
The electrodes snap and spark into life.
But somewhere between thought and sound,
Brain and mouth,
Imagination and reality.
There's a crash, a wall, a barrier.
My mouth moves but no words leave.
Just a stutter, a stumble, a choke inside a dry throat, a blank page, a cage in which I am enclosed.
A room in which I am trapped.
And the words that my minds desires whispered fade into the void you left.
To never be spoken or heard or written.
The words that could've changed worlds do nothing.
They jumble and code into cryptisity.
Words break from sentences, letters break from words.
And all that's left is an alphabet of curiosity, a step by step guide to the could'ves, the should'ves, the would'ves.
The what ifs and the buts.