I fear once again,
my bitten tongue has cast me out
amongst the swarm, as wasps
land on my lips:
a mistaken stagnant flower,
that does not flutter
in objection, to what strikes
fear & discomfort,
into my heart.

& thus, I lay here lifeless,
on the pollen grass,
a murder most foul,
committed,
by the silence of my despair.

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