an offence

Today I offended a man.

I was watching him for a while:
He was personally attacking others,
being noisy and rude;
but I was waiting.

(one woman cried)

I was a predator,–
waiting.

(I heard his psychotic laugh)

a Satyr dancing in the dirt, drunk from his mockery;
but I was still waiting.

Today I offended the man.

I asked him about a photograph of him posing with an aiming not-loaded gun:
“Don’t you think this photograph is an expression of your microscopic libido,
and the rifle is a projection of your penis?”

I knew, he was hurt.
I knew he was miserable,
and I knew the reasons to his misery.

He asked me, if I was in the army,
and I said I was, and I don’t wish him the memories I bear.

(and I heard the bullets ricocheting from the rocks around)

He was hurt,
but I was squeezing my jaws harder.

(one woman giggled)

I felt the blood pumping through his veins,
and it was hot,
yet I was cold.

He tried to bite me,
yet, I didn’t let him go.

once I was like him:
when I felt useless even to myself,
when I felt thrown over the fence of society, by the fears of my own stereotypes,
or when I wanted to be,
but nobody wanted me to be.
when I was taught,
for the sake of being taught.

O, I know how does it hurt!

but I was squeezing my jaws, till he stopped breathing.

(a flatline)

Today I offended a man.

Later he was still laughing,
but he was already dead.

So am I.

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