Mute

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.