Our brains are wired by stimuli of our bodies and
the wind unties knots which been in our lungs for years
compulsively sewing our untamed emotions into words
hopes hidden secret in our heavy dress hems, our love
is apron string bow weak, give us less; we'll love you more.
What if every grub is a tongue cut out our mouth in past life
and that's why we scream in horror, to reject the silence
and we forgot we bled miracles every month, not profits?
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