Silence of the Fittest

I am a master at the game of Pac-Man,

Constantly panicking in the face of my enemies,

My only salvation being the uncanny ability

To shove my words in my mouth.

It only takes a flick of the wrist and an agonizing swallow.

But it’s done.

On to the next level.

Thus the constant wizardry of disappearing discussion

Saves my eyes, my face, and my hide

From consumption by the snickering ghouls

Level after level after level.

I stuff myself with savage sentences

Until I’m drowning in them.

I wonder how long I’ll tick before I explode.