Eventually, You Hear the Voice...

and it says, I know the voices you're hiding behind...

And you say, I'm not hiding behind anything. I'm saying exactly what I want...

And the voice says, Why don't you ask the questions you really want to ask, the ones that terrify you...

And you insist you are wearing no protective coloration, no camouflage, no clothing whatsoever.

None of your questions is about the terror or how to live inside the terror.

You're "normal."

You live and die like a houseplant.

Language is merely your foliage.

This simplicity is your voice.

This and nothing more.

And maybe you water a plant and hope the voice has flown away, gone around the corner to another house.

And the voice smiles and says nothing.

But stays right there. At the hot-bead-center of your back.

The thing you call "your spine."

Humorously.