Hands Tied.

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Hands tied.
Placed high on a pedestal for all to see, I quiver.
The cold wind blows away my dignity
The sun beats down melting away any humility
Over the screaming crowd and rowdy upheaval
Crucified.

Silenced with a white cloth made of cotton
Picked by the hands of my fellow oppressed.
Bound at the stake waiting to be burned
The guillotine looming within my mind.
Eyes stare like piercing sharp knives
Bleeding on the outside soft like a sweet caress
My skin stained with the color of passion
Deep, velvet red.
A question to remain silent or speak my mind
Has brought me before you,
A problem whose solution is
Suicide.

Under a deep black cloud raining on my parade
Bathing in the tears of others who came before me
Put to death for doing what was right
In a battle of competing morals,
Only those who can control
Will survive.


 

 

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