They screech profound wisdom from the rooftops

their jaws dripping with the blood of the brave.

Those with voices are throttled

drowned and baptized in their own blood.

The easiest way to live is to trumpet

the agenda that broke your heart.

Close your eyes, trust me.

The vultures can’t smell your inauthenticity.

In a few years they will know what you know,

the words you smother each and every day.

Their eyes will gleam dully,

deadened by the weight of the truth inside you.

For now, just listen.

Watch their teeth, as their sneers grow wider.

Try not to cry, bite your cheek until it bleeds.

Pull a dark shroud over your light,

cast a twisted purple one instead,

mocking the honesty throbbing in your ribcage.

But always remember this:

Time will pass.

Day will turn to night

and they will know.