No one had to appoint you judge, jury, and executioner.
You took that upon yourself.
Like the protagonist in a Kafka story.
Now you’re banging the gavel,
viewing yourself through the eyes of 12 strange and unseeing peers,
and dawning the black hood of your own premature demise.
And like a character only Kafka could’ve dreamt of,
you’ve done nothing wrong,
let alone criminal.
To say nothing of capital offenses.
The court is your mind.
The judge is your mind.
The jury is your mind.
The executioner too.
Toss out the gavel.
Look through your mind to see your heart.
Let death animate your being instead of hanging it on the gallows.
Pity Kafka.
He did nothing wrong,
let alone criminal.
To say nothing of capital offenses.
He’d never have hung you like you hang yourself.
And you’d never do that to him either.