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Stitched Lips

Acting like nothing happened. Like nothing is happening. I’d rather not play this mime game. Wanting to scream but no words makes its way out. Will these walls fall? Break down, break now. These allusions to the tell-tales make constant, jeering cuts. I’d rather not wait for them to heal, but rather, just cut harder, bleed faster. Singing a melody but mimes silence these lips. Makes no sense how we fall into this cycle. It won’t spiral if it is not turned. Because even though confrontation makes me want to flee like a hare, it’s better than this confused, mixed silence.





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