A portrait here.
See my soul
screaming at me
for all the times
it was asked
if what it was saying
was true,
only to have
its mouth sewn shut
before answering,
to be told
to shut up,
to stop lying
to the poor girl,
to stop messing
with her mind
again.
You see them here,
ripped open,
yelling
at all you naysayers,
from their pit
up through her gullet,
and still… you…
Still,
you doubt?
Will you not stop
until you’ve killed her?