supply

the city is sleeping, and the noises that have made it famous have ceased.
and yet i stir, trying to deter my thoughts and plots on disarming alarming substances
that are attempting to shut my mouth,
right before
i
inhale.
without oxygen i have no means of producing sound;
the vibrations created by the tension of air passing
cannot
take
place.
you.
are.
my.
life.
supply.