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Spiritual Laryngitis


the holy, holy mouth that speaks on my behalf.

You tore out my vocal chords one by one,

called it a tithe.

The preacher built himself a throne from my flesh and my blood

and the skeleton bowed to worship.

But I-

I blotted out my name from your book.

I unraveled the black throne thread by thread

reclaiming the voice

you told me I couldn't use.

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