I take
my tongue
between
my teeth
and bite down
hard
and taste
the blood
and hope
that I
have killed
my voice.

I take
a rock
from the
creek
behind
my house
and I
raise it
in my
left hand
above
my right
and bring it
crashing
down
to shatter
bone
and hope
I have stilled
the urge
to grip
a pen
or scrape
letters into
the dust.

I take
these words
and let
them fill
my mind
and pray
that they
drown
out
these
howling
voices
that say
that I
am killing
myself
by removing
my ability
to speak.

I take
my head
between
my hands
—one crippled,
one whole—
with dark
blood
trickling
from my
mouth
and

I
take

a
heaving,

sobbing

breath

and

then

I

s
c
r
e
a
m

h.f.m.