Yeah.
I see you all on that hill.
Crucified.
Crying out in agony.
Calling on God
As if you were martyrs.
Well.
I don’t pretend compassion.
You make me sick.
You put each other up there.
You crucified yourselves.
Forging by night
Hammers and nails.
Spinning our words into nets
To throw over you.
Yeah. Well.
I hope you writhe and die.
You viruses.
You are not welcome.