Philomela
I have the rights not to speak
yet the violent veins bulged from my smooth skin
silence is heavier
when it is surrounded by a muting pain
words, might soothing words help?
the sacred lamb cried not only once
in front of the alter.
We're used to blood-washed sights
Did you see the tears, already dry
weaved into the drapery?
I am the one who poisoned my tongue.
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