Dare I Say
Shekynah Angelene Samadan
Dare I say we laugh at your mere breathing. We belittle you and your bravado, your utmost cowardice. Behind the television screen, what are you? A lone, hollow walnut of a man. Enough to feed the undead. I wish we could. The living does not want to bear you any longer. The moment you open your mouth, a dump truck appears right on-site to collect the garbage you spew. Trash after trash, you spit maggot-filled lies you accept without question. The ever so loyal rotten corpse’s bitch. Those who walk their humble lives were left to starve and those who were none the wiser were left for dead. You bear no compassion beneath that thick, crocodile skin. Always hiding underneath your master’s gold leash for protection against the voices that could eat you whole. How dare you stand before a dying nation utter the words, “congratulations”? As if the amount of people suffering and lives lost were a worthy cause for celebration. Probably for you, so you may have an excuse to dance around with dolphins. No glorified coffee nor artificially dyed bread can fix the wound you keep screwing open. You with your masters’ grimy liquids infecting it loose and wide. While we are the ones who are left scrubbing off last night’s mess. You dare condense this downfall to a mere vacation as if we were fully packed and ready, like we were looking forward to this. As if we screeched in excitement while each passing day eats us whole. As if we asked for the heedlessness and incompetence of your so-called “service”. As if it was us who craved such chaos in the first place. So I dare you, as my dirty words mimic your crude sense of being. I dare you, a snake with split tongues spitting poison, to step off your marble floors and meet the people. Grace us with your presence, and with no holds barred, we will feast on your rotten flesh.
63
