Tamed tongues

My days are empty,
only set apart by the succession of
light and dark.
The hours tick by and I am still fasting,
abstaining from words that my mouth
itches to speak.
There’s a furled ball of stillborn words
that have been gathering in my throat,
blocking air and restricting my chest.
I am no longer a leaf travelling
as far as the wind could take me–no.
Somewhere along the way, I became
one out of many that are
held tightly by the branches of this
deeply rooted tree.