Words. They belong to me.

Hush. Please. Don't.

Don't caugh it up.

Thin air. Don't.

Serve them on a silver platter.

Letters. Syllables. Words.

Contaminate a smile.

Contaminate a wink.

Falsify yesterday's brushstroke.

Insult today's reality.

But. Hush. Please. Don't.

Don't touch them. The words.

Don't deprive them of their virgin birth.

They belong to me.

Their pristineness. I need it.

I need to believe in it.

Hush. Please. Don't.

I didn't ask for them.

You don't need to.

Hush. Please Don't.

Don't say white when it's black.

When you say white.

I hear white.

I see white.

Don't say West when it's East.

When you say West.

I hear West.

I head West.

Words. They belong to me.

I believe in them.

Don't convert them into strings

to make me curtsy.

Hush. Please. Don't.

Serve them on a silver platter.

I will bow down in respect.

Even before her majesty of truth.

I will bow.

But. Please. Hush. Don't.

Don't say exhale when you mean inhale.

I will suffocate.

Words. They belong to me.

Hush. Please. Don't.

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"Bun is such a sad word, isn't it?"

- Samuel Beckett (Watt)