Dialing: 123123123
Hello, is this the language?

Yes?

I am a linguist on the other side.
Hello, how can I help you out?
Can I be useful in your missing lead?

Yes!

Words are succumbing to death,
and punctuation marks roam as zombies.
Sentences the sacred landscape of words
are setting sunsets, avoiding dawn’s burn.

The millionth part of words I know
decides to join a sorrowful dictionary,
as if I am not a friend, but a foe this is my worry!

I am unable to portray my thoughts
to this linguistic phenomenon,
as if I’m fictional, having lost my humanistic persona.

Banish me if I lack understanding,
but please bring the sensitivity!
Mother tongues are enveloping their essence.
I swear, it will turn out to be a menace.

Today, I stand as a neighbor of my kind,
loneliness has strangled what I should have sufficed.

The caricatures of my vocabulary
will try to haunt me.
Will I lose control of the depiction
if it always chooses me?

Calculate me to eliminate,
strike me to animate
but your choices will
govern the greater rhetoric.

I want to be a philosophical diction
in your service, not an irony,
lost in language’s ecstasy,
doomed to practice a joke without humor,
a world having less reality and more rumor!

Dial me back, I surrender my plea:
123123123

.    .    .