A Bird from the Battlefront

This evening, No one looks like me.I put my heart into the fridge, My eyes into the shoe closet.I left my fingers yonder on the door handle.This eveningNo one looks like meI set on the edge of my silenceChew what is left of the newsAsk the lady announcer to become sexierWhen numbering today's victims;Her excitement is a surplus femininityMessing with the awe of death.This evening, No one looks like me.And the knife slitting my neck from behindFeels as soft as the collar of my shirt.OneSingleUniqueSoloI am this eveningAnd no one looks like meExceptThe twenty-three million SyriansWho write this same poemEven now.