I cut the chords from my throat
presenting them as a gift
in homage to the gods of the citadel
burying my resentment
with the bones of my ancestors.
I ripped the nerves from my face
and offered my apathy
to the wraiths that would prey
on the bitterness of mute lamentation.
I tore the veins from my arm
to free the repressed tears
that flowed like a creek over my wrist
and into a silver phial.
I dipped my quill in the phial
and let the shadows hear
the sound of my voice.