those bastardly irongripped fingers that grasp my tongue rendering me incapable of speech rise up from the freshly interred soil in the latest in a long line of attempts at what the chemicals decree devoir le plus important chips away the marble edifice where hope once thrived and all i wish to do is scream until blood sprays from my torn voicebox maybe this inability is a reaction to the gaping subtraction a rogue subfraction to negate the innate distraction this rusted chain deaction her light has no refraction

i am tired.
and my voice does not work.