The Punished Articulation
By M.N. Ares
I have a two-story living room
and your voice fills it all up.
It pushes me to the floor,
and steps on my chest,
and covers my mouth.
He holds peace by her collar,
and cuts at her neck.
I have suffered anaphylaxis at the hands of your cries
and you have yet to apologize.
Your vocal cords hanged me.
They tied my hands behind my back.
They told me bad things.
They have not once uttered an apology
or an I’m proud of you
or a you look lovely today.
Your voice open carries a 40 millimeter
and mine wields a daisy in her hand.
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