Silence was the first law I learned—
not peace,
but punishment.
It was golden,
yes—
like ash melting on the tongue,
bitter and final.

I was born without lungs to scream,
without fingers to grip
the edge of anything safe.
No god to curse.
No name to whisper.

Just this:
an animal
dressed in the shape of a woman,
spine made of scars,
mouth full of truth no one asked for.

No faith.
No leash.
No savior.

I am death
wearing perfume.
I am money
without mercy.
I am ***
with teeth.

And I will walk barefoot
into the last collapsing light
of an unpromised horizon—
unloved,
unclaimed,
unbroken,
and still burning.