Untitled.

Today ink will spill,
the pen will swerve into a wild dance
in seething furies
the paper will bear the brunt
of all that we did
in the name of us
we hypocrites
self-loathing bastards
blotting lives black
with our self-righteousness.
The rage is building up
at the fearful citizen
the coward who couldn’t
accept the two men who
loved each other
more than he loved
his own wife who he trapped
in the invisible confines
of his domestic violence
throughout
his fucking life;
when her body bore the brunt of his
hand which saw no reason
was not that unnatural?
Anger lingers at the citizen
who was cold to them
in Khirkis
to him only drug traffickers
It was his, not their
humanity that was eaten up
the citizen
for whom
the creative patterns
of the cigarette smoke
held
only addiction
and filth
but no emotion
no hopelessness
to whom
his car in the parking safe
was
more important
than the clothes on that
little child dying.

Citizen, I have been there citizen
I have seen my world
collapse
seen my life smothered underwater
in the front of my eyes
I am not me
I am that human
you everyday see
begging, screaming
for you
to see
and dreaming
but you do not see
you do not want to see

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