What if my body could speak?

It would scream. Every wound would rip open and reveal a thousand tiny mouths in their place. They would wail and wail and the sound would penetrate the very marrow of my bones. The skin would contort to shield my febrile face as I claw towards the heavens for escape. 

The rift between sex and the mind would join again, then split so as to never endure another fatuous dissesemblance.