MUTE

MY BITE AND MY BARK BRAWL BEHIND MY BACK.
INCISORS, STOIC SOLDIERS OF SPEECH, BARRICADE THE THUNDER FROM MY
THROAT, HALTING THE BIRTH OF A RAINBOW FROM MY LIPS. BUT THE BARK
BREAKS THE BARRIER AND CONTINUES TO BOAST IN BULK, BURNING BRIDGES WITH THE BITE, ONCE SHARPER THAN SCISSORS, NOW ASHAMEDLY SHY AND VOID OF VENOM, SEALING DISINTEGRATED SOLILIQUIES INSIDE TO SERVE A LIFELONG SENTENCE OF SILENCE.

THE BARK SEWS SHUT THE BITE.

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