Martyrs with megaphones

Take the ground or the stars
and bend them till they become
a metaphor for
whatever base thought
you inflict on them next.Blank pages are made to expand infinitely
or contract into a noose
around your neck.

Painted nails are made to
hammer into flesh till
you have finished putting
yourself on a cross.

The pen in your hand
is the double edged sword
plunged again and again into your sides
till you are satisfied.

Martyrs with megaphones,
we have become:

Pointing to the battered hearts
we tacked on our shoulders
because the world has stopped its revolving…
around us.

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