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They Cut Out My Tongue
They cut out my tongue
and stored it in a mason jar --
pickled, perfectly preserved,
perfectly silenced.
Words died in my throat. Piling up
bodies decomposed, the toxic fumes of carrion
flavoring my breath.
"Silence," they ordered, and silence I was.
Silence I am, an empty mouth
and rotting words that circulate my brain,
once revelations reduced to
so much poison.
They cut out my tongue
with a dull blade and a gentle touch.
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