The Legal Whip

There is a time and a date that the whip will descend. Its daunting shadow grows larger on the marble floor. It approaches his back with every second. His body aches in submission; his knees are red and raw. He wishes he could stand with a proud back, but his posture has been altered.

The small of his soul worries over the future, but its indignant majority spits bile and rebels. The acid grows and grows until his stomach bulges and the lining thins. It'll wreak havoc in his blood soon enough. For the balance has vanished.

Fascism stomps on the fangless breed who hiss and moan and cry and wail before silent shame's sweaty tears taint the defamed faces.

Scarred sockets crater his gums, and a lawyer chews his food for him, smiling cleanly through golden canines before slopping it out onto the pristine plate before him.

I'll hold that sickly porcelain saliva sound within my mind's captive ears forever and ever.

The lawyer's glassy, barrel eyes freeze his blood as he picks up the fork, and brings the retched gruel to his resistant lips.

The jaw creaks open,
And I munch,
And I gag.

America's nylon flutters
And I munch,
And I gag.

I stare at freedom's flag,
And I munch,
And I gag.