too quiet, too still

this thread we’ve sewn our mouths shut with needs to be ripped out.
to hell with our lips or the skin we might lose.

the silence we’ve lived in has killed
brothers and sisters,
mothers and fathers,
friends
and heroes.

their blood is on our hands, our tongues.
we can’t wash that away.

but the least we can do is pull ourselves out of this
self-imposed coma

and

s c r e a m.