a letter to the prosecutor

you've always been there, haven't you?
peaking around not-so-distant corners
sneaking behind walls and barriers

you have studied this work of the Maker
critical with plots and dungeon schemes
in allegience with chains and venom

if you're not hiding in shadows and attics
you parade about in light and beauty
but i will name you for what you are

you're the leech of provision and life
the vocal skeleton closet keeper
accuser, abuser, marauder, and rapist

condemning without any legal right
but with trickery and a slithering tongue,
you deceive the free until they are slaves

usurper of truth, the criminal king
the pauper of poison and filth
just a touch from you is madness

out of the movement of your heart
comes every yoke of fear and deceit
that burdens those meant to be free

and your tongue is a leperous child
the mire of every wicked thing
freely flows out from your stomach

with all of your billow and bluster
i can see you as i always have
i am not ignorant of your behavior

i don't know which is more evil
you, and the sum of your villainy,
or to give an ear to what you profess

i needed water, you gave me spit
you gave a rock for bread
and left me alone with scorpions

your enticements have left me vacant
bereft of motion and liberty
with a bed of dirt as my only claim

and i hate this place like i hate myself
and i hate you most of all
just for teaching me how to hate.