It is late, but I cannot sleep.
Every moment sires in me new thoughts, and the dreaded vehicles of these thoughts – words.
Words swarm through my head, like a disturbed nest of bees, and like an army of traitors, they pound my head from within, seeking to escape from their confines.
Yes, now I see it. All through, it has only been words that are the harbingers of peril. At any time, I am assaulted by a million of these, as if there were an army of soldiers aiming them at me. But nay, this army seeks more than to wound. They seek to destroy; they tip the barbs the shoot with the dreaded poison – meaning.