Inhale. I could wax poetic About how time flies I'd write you a poem Stuffed with decadent lies Doubtless it would rhyme And mimic Dr. Seuss It would sound like a song And taste like an excuse But what would be the point? These words are a seeping syrup That varnishes each limb They coat your lips in sucrose Tasting of Crystalized intelligence And honeyed pretense These words of wisdom Are painful in their misuse A mouthful of vestigial syllables That must be plucked Like the superfluous denticles of youth These words become An invasive species Endangering our native thoughts. Choking vines, they creep They cut off all circulation. These words, a lush bouquet Lavished upon a dead man He spends them like dimes Hoards them like gold; Guilt speaks more Than love ever could What if I just stopped? And left a gaping hole A no-man's-land of diction Devoid of respiration Would you fill it to the brim With your platitudes? I’ll tell you what: Let’s go see a play. We know all the words That we never say But I choose to hear instead The words that go unsaid. They find me In the space between Each breath For ours is a pregnant pause Exhale.