It's fifteen minutes past 20:00.
And I'm wondering what they're doing.
Are the discreetly concocting a plan?
Or do they strategize their next stand?
The ones with a simple slogan.
In a world abruptly awoken.
And shaken in the wake.
Of all the colored ones they take.
Black Lives Matter.
And it couldn't be sadder.
That it's come to this stage.
Where we now must rage.
So remain steadfast.
Honor those who have passed.
It's thirty minutes past 20:00.
Sleep is for the
So sleep dearly.
And I'm walking too close to traffic again.
Performing a tight rope act along the white line.
Clutching a balancing pole triple my wingspan.
Caught between chaotic turbulence and moral serenity.
Vehicular slaughter to my left pulses with life and a promise.
A promise of apathy, implosion, corrosion, and erosion.
The cars whip the air into a frenzy as they zoom past.
Buffeted from gust to gust my balance wavers and I feel it.
That dormant inclination towards self-destruction awakening.
And like a cat caught on a cable, exhausted and scared, I want to leap.
**** the consequences just to end the uncertainty, the stress.
But the people on the sidewalk.
Some grab hold of the balancing bar offering it stability against the gale.
And somehow I find a way to hold on.
I used to have something to say.
Way back when.
Until my fingers broke.
Leaving me wincing and swearing an oath.
Four years of nothing.
Just twiddling my thumbs
and popping tense moments out of my joints.
Every crack of my knuckles sounded
the passing of another second of idle hands.
Surrounded by the Devil's work,
I had nothing to say.
Maybe it was an emotional barricade.
A way to keep it all at bay.
Now don't get your hopes up.
This isn't a written piece.
Because I have nothing to say.
You offered me your cold shoulder to cry on.
The chip pressed against my skull,
and made the tears flow even faster.
What happened to the base of my support?
You replied by letting my weight drop.
I was nothing to you.
Armed with my trust you burned my heart.
Left behind marks of betrayal.
My dream catcher only knows nightmares.
And I’ll start a fire!
Even use a dead lighter.
To emphasize my ability,
of thinking with agility.
I’ll stay alive.
Maybe even survive.