Death to the man

So say I have the face of death.

Tell me life is fair.

Tell me that the tone of your surface has no effect on the way you are treated. 

For there is blood on the hands of those that refuse to act or admit. 

For there is blood on the hands of those that kill and demonize. 

For there is blood on the hands of those that stick to tribalism and say it isn't conscious hate. 

Your words mean nothing in the face of ommision. 

Your values and work are null and void in the context of a privileged reality. 

For they are not your enemies. They are not strangers. They are not invaders. They are just like you and me, breathing, bleeding, asphyxiated and tormented people.

They are just like you and me, tortured, disregarded, desperate and emotionally neglected by cultural norms.

So tell I have the face of death.

Tell me that life is fair to all, tell me everyone matters, while you stand tall upon corpses of those that have been slaughtered for the sake of peace and prosperity. 

For the sake of monetary gain and power. 

For the sake of greed and pride. 

For the sake of your own kind. 

So do me a favor and die.