Do not say you have given me a choice
When you know you have only taken it

Do not expect the grace of my words
When you have torn my tongue from my mouth

Do not place your undeserving hands upon my gilded skin
When you plan not to take me with gentle fingers but with rough callous palms

Do not demand an ‘Encore!’
When you have cemented my feet to your stage

Do not cage me in a glass case
Only to disregard me as you pass

Do not drain the golden ichor from my veins
Only to throw it to the vultures

Do not follow me to the end of the world
Only to crush your ravenous hands around my neck

Do not seize my land
Only to surrender it back in ruins

Do not spit at my feet
And expect me not to spit back