Walk a mile

It's not persecution if I'm right

You crawl on bloody
hands and knees
through shards of
glass, scrabbling
for stones to throw.

Righteous amnesty
heals your wounds
(leaving your whites whiter,
your colours brighter)
and the mess is swept
under the rug until
your empire is
teetering on a
pile of broken
                    dreams,
          broken
                    lives,
          broken
                    promises...

All because you're
obsessed with who
they fuck in bed.


Free verse. Written 6 April 2016.