there is no title

I have lost my voice. I have no voice.

As it were with the little mermaid-- to be voiceless is to be soulless. Yet no sea-witch has absconded with my voice, seashell-held, to take my likeness, my life, my love.

Though I am not all too sure that my likeness isn't out there somewhere, living the life I long for with the love I pine for-- under a face, a guise, and thoughts and feelings that should be mine.

Should they really be mine? They were not stolen-- they were thrown away, tossed into the waves like so much garbage and seafoam, where so many merpeople have perished for the chance of absolution-- for the promise of a human soul and eternal life.

Do I deserve a voice? Must I stab my beloved; must I feel shards of broken glass piercing through bone with every step?

Or do I throw the dagger into the sea? Something tells me the price for those who have carelessly lost their souls and voices is higher than it is for those who were never given a chance.

I can't even write a fucking cogent extended metaphor or consistent imagery anymore.