straight edge bent backward
slipping fast forward
sirens slow screaming
slicing through silence
compelling our fear
to double us down
fetal position
fatal decision
final solution
forgive me my Mama
grant absolution

give me rope
give me pain
give me release
oh won’t you please
at your pleasure
allow me to be
purely white
purely naive
if that is your
privilege
then give it to me

why do they come
bearing black guns?
why do they take
the little I am
and lock it away?

give me hope
give me quiet
give me cocaine
give me my lines
so I’ll know what to say

why are these words
written on paper?
see how the flutter
when the wind blows away…

folded over
folded under
my thoughts are fleeing
and Descartes is no more.