Standing clinched-fists in the rubble of good intentions, with the blood of my own soul under my fingernails, I look forward-
not to the ******, but to the end.

If those young men had looked like me,
how diff'rent everything would be.
There'd be no blood or teardrops shed.
Had they been white, they'd not be dead.

If Mike Brown had been Michael White,
he surely would have been alright.
"Don't shoot!" would not need to be said.
Had he been white, he'd not be dead.

From Ferguson to East L.A.,
we hear the stories every day.
"Protect and Serve" til streets run red.
Had they been white, they'd not be dead.

Call it racial immunity,
where skin-tone is impunity.
Don't let yourself be so misled-
had they been white, they'd not be dead.

As more and more young ones are slain,
and protests are met with disdain,
you may debate what I have said,
but were they white, they'd not be dead.

I fell in love with candlelight-
in my darkness, she shone so bright.
She danced the breeze, lit up the night,
her glow consumed my very sight.

But wax and wick both burn away,
and candlelight just cannot stay.
As sure as night turns into day,
that fickle flame will go astray.

But for a moment, through the storm,
she lit my world, she kept me warm,
then flickered out, as is the norm
for candlelight, its fleeting form.

I fell in love with candlelight,
for but a moment, all was right.
Her glow, her dance, consumed my sight,
and faded out at end of night.

Here we stand on the edge of extinction
Shaking fists at the sun
Snarling through clinched teeth
And casting fault for the burnt flesh
We chose not to shield.

Amazing how the venom glows
So easy on the eyes
I'll poison myself with your touch
And breathe my last in sighs

Burn my veins in place of the warmth
I thought would be my prize
How sweet the bile that's killing me
How tender my demise

I'm a cosmic wanderer
I don't belong here
Stardust stuck to a ball of dirt
I don't remember the fall
Or the trip at all,
So the impact must've hurt.
Now here I stand
On hostile sand
The weak all feed the strong.
A cosmic wanderer, I am
Stuck somewhere I don't belong.

I pour my heart out.
You won't take a drink.