Speak now, or remain silent forever

When they taught me I could no longer speak, I started screaming like it was the end of the world and my silence would cause it.

As my voice and my will shook, the hands extended themselves, placing cold fingertips on my throat to choke me but the strength it took to just keep standing overtook me and hope, I would always say, was a bitch but in that utter helpless moment, I decided that so was I.
My hands have been tied by those trying to find a better use of it but my writings bled through the zip tie flowing poetry all over their cold hard floors.
My legs buckle under the pressure of a lonely room with nothing but 200 books to keep me sane for a week but Sundays have never been my favourite and the more I read and inhaled the words too strong for me to understand, the weaker I became at the hands of those who wrote it.
So, I took off the pages of a novel and swallowed them whole until I puked literature and characters drowned like dreams in my eyes.
I AM a marvellous critic because I find flaws in every beautiful thing. We don't need beauty. We need raw ugliness that hampers your vision so you can't look anywhere else.
My distractions are your lives, so petty, mundane and unreal that they may become part of my daydreams.