Acid Voice

Silence is no peace it’s a fist rammed down the throat of the soul a storm chewing its own lightning until blood sparks. The quiet man doesn’t bleed inward he hemorrhages in secret his calm a deliberate self-dissection his stillness the slow twist of a knife he refuses to drop. From this gash of restraint erupts a voice forged in acid a laughter that doesn’t heal it razes temples shatters every false god on its knees. No gentle rebirth here only a will clawed from the wreckage teeth bared hungry to devour what once choked it. Call it survival if you want I call it vengeance wearing silence’s skin.