After the Fact

I’m feeling sick.
Your voice is in my throat
I can smell your taint
On my body and in my clothes.
Know this rapture claimed
All those that you’ve left exposed
And there’s nothing left to give
Except those holy notes

So cut it out from inside your mind.
Leave those thoughts upon the floor
Each letter, word, and sentence that you’ll share
Can’t be heard over the roar.

Lilted and brown,
Like roses after the fact
Sweet smelling with
Sneering lips, split and cracked
Keystrokes pumping out
Answers plain as day
Pixels shredding hope
That’s been left stripped away.

Spread your written word,
You soapbox coward
Every character
Stalked and registered

Graze on with the flock
See who gives a fuck
Digital imprints
Sold in bargain bins

Fall in line.
Stay in line.
Tracked in time.
All online.