Forty Five : Rituals

We’ve bound ourselves together with words and sacred rituals we could never fully understand.
She cleans my wounds.
But now, now we have nothing to say.
She places stitches in my broken skin.
Because those rites have been abolished, broken, and thrown about the room.
She pulls me to my feet.
Now I have nothing to say.
She pushes me back down.
Or write.
She strips away my bandages.
Now I have nothing.
She ties me to the stake.
Now I burn.

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