An exploration of violence and other metaphors

To burst the silence by clubbing, to make each whisper a dagger that gets sharpened by tearing the skin, to pinch on the wound and fumble in the blood. To shoot a bullet that never arrives and always crash in the middle of the bullseye. To pretend that the river flow hasn't flooded and the lack of oxygen has driven by mistake to drowning, or that the ground thanks the dryness because the poison can easily get into gangrene.

To devour the loneliness in each ditch and plant a poppy that will be the treasure cross. To dress up the words that had already been buried and condemn them again to the stake, let the flames cover each misery and cloud each hope. Hollowing the needle where the pain can invalidate the nerves. To bite off the last breath and then let it get infected until highlight that life was before.

To cut the measured time, the one that played with the memory and feasted the dreams which escape from the fear. To go through a guillotine and show it the path to the gallows. To allow a bath in the lava and sleep in the fence. To grant a trench with bombs ready to exploit. Don't talk about war while the cemetery is getting big, wait an imprudent duration to blame those who are already away. To scratch when the stampede has sold out the tickets. To justify the document.