Seven Minutes’ Worth of Prose

A cat has got your tongue.

It's feral teeth rip at your composure,

as sharpened claws leave your words shredded,

dangling from your lips

like scraps of skin.

That muscle of speech,

now spastic,

has lost all control,

captured and caught in the kitty's clamped jaws.

As you struggle and stutter and speed on through,

I can't help but smugly smirk.

The cat cannot catch me.