The same eyes
that fix on us 
were closed before
The same ears
that eavesdrop 
were shut before
The hounds 
sniffing for blood now
cared not when we were bleeding
All of them
once satisfied by tasteless comments
suddenly hungry for flesh
Signalling absolute feelings
on secondhand stories
they haven’t lived
And that’s the rub
or lack thereof
a lack of feeling
The unscathed are most scathing
or just senseless
How funny it is
that we call them 
the press
The untouched
the out of touch
poking and prodding
Demanding we put on a show
but expecting us to pay
expecting us to play, saying
Be the perfect victim
the expert
the counsellor
Tell us about being exploited
while we exploit you
because you are ours
We need you
we own you
you are sensational