I hang half-dead on a wall,
displayed and gagged with fear,
I am mute,
the vise tightening against my throat,
fingertips litter the crime scene.

My body was once a temple,
before you entered with your servants,
and ransacked all that belonged to me.

You left me chained to concrete,
my insides broken,
and my voice on mute.

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“All Publicity is Good Publicity”

I’m sorry for all the inspiration I stole from you
without crediting my sources, but do you really
want your name in neon lights, advertising your
roll in my pain? Are you that self conceited that
you’d rather be known for your childish actions,
than never known at all? I apologize for not giving
you this after taking so much from me.