They’re screaming in empty rooms as their cries echo in the stale air. Their distorted faces and sandpaper throats never once pause for silence or breath.
Their new world is surrounded with faces full of chapped lips and muddy skin; of matted hair and bloody hands.
These are their costumes of resistance; worn proudly upon upturned chins and raised solidarity.
Keep screaming. Fighting. Pushing.
Because the oppressed will always remain oppressed-
If they let the bastards carry the highest voice.