I cut the chords from my throat,

Presenting them as a

Gift in homage to the

Gods of the citidel, burying my

Resentment with the

Bones of my ancestors.



I ripped the nerves from my face,

Offering my apathy to the

Wraiths that would prey on the

Bitterness of mute lamentation .



I tore the veins from my arm,

Freeing the hidden

Tears that flowed like a

Creek over my

Wrist and into silver phial.


I dipped my quill in the phial

And let the

Shadows hear the

Sound of my voice.



©Nathan A. Brock