Cut my throat
and you will see
How many times
I have swallowed up
the flames of your
memories.
How bitterly
the throat is scorched.
And now when I talk to people
they tell me
I sound rude.
that
My voice is soared.
No, my voice is sore,
with the pain.
It ain't rudeness.
No, I ain't rude.
But I can't tell everyone
to cut my throat.
After all,
I can't defame you.
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