Seven days in the desert

The silence consumes me

Except for the whisper of wind

This all or nothing existence

As stark as unrelenting sunlight

Blistering me for saying

In the wrong place how I feel

Nefertiti banning me

And my existence

For questioning the nature of things

Condemned to exile

Seven days in the not so silent desert

To live among the slithering things

As if I was one, too,

As if I had done things so bad

I should get

down on my belly

to crawl over sand and stone

until I rub myself raw,

my throat parched from silent screaming

so that I may never speak again

I envy Christ

For surviving 40 days like this,

But he was a god,

Me,

I’m not even a saint.