September 8, 2020

My Terms

Every idle word is a small asphyxiation,
each syllable a stolen bit of life, an
     unnecessary expenditure of breath,
a waste of vital force, a micro-heist.

Stop. Just stop. Stop talking.
I can't breathe.

You can't be here. You need to take
a vow of silence – or I do. But since
     neither of us can pull that off
right now, albeit for different reasons,

you are not welcome here. Come back 
when you have learned the value of your 
     breath, and mine, when you can 
go about for days at a stretch without

uttering a single jot or tittle. Only then
might we begin to commune – maybe – 
     and only so long as you honor the
resonant silence I need to survive.