My words are like battery acid;
I pour my verbs and metaphors
across your face to see the shit-
eating blackshirt scowl you use
when calling migrants a plague
dissolve. My words destroy ideas,
scar minds and change lives.
Hate speech for those that hate
speech. But my words cannot hurt;
I wound with reason, logic flaws.
I’ll even cup an ear to hear yours.
And, yes, I could if I wished, murder
you with rhetoric, render you absurd
with a word, with a word, with a word.
Categorised in: Article
This post was written by Simon Cockle