I'm in my bed half warm with the other half as cold as this solemnity you've left me in
I have one leg wrapped around the sheets where you formally lied and the other hanging like the pieces of my mangled heart
Struggling to maintain equilibrium or tumble past sheets of broken lies into the crevice of my untold truths right under my bed
The rain pours as if forcing itself down my rib cage to remind me that I'm alive despite my mangled body in it's contorted position without it's straightener of you
The rain it pours yet I can't hear it
I hear the silence
And I feel you once again feeling my skin from hip bone to the depth of the rivers inside me
Running your fingers on my African canvas with your Southern confederate rakes and flags etching yourself onto me
Leaving me scarred
Until every time I look down at me, I see you
Oh the irony
The tale of white man leaves his African prey once again.