Running Colors

In a city of gun wielding, drug dealing and heathens. Home of the pity where murder offers mysterious reasons. In a neighborhood of red, a man of blue unknowingly walks through. Where vendettas are settled with berettas. Trained are these creeds, to perform the evil deeds. Of avenging their comrades, who have fallen in these streets. Strolling down the sidewalk. Reality sets in, within the time of a gun cock. On this block three reds look on to make him dead. Cringing at the truth, this soul of blue sences the dread. From out of their eyes, knives do fly. If looks could kill, this man would die. So here begins the primal fear. The chruning of the bowels and that ringing in the ear. The violance can never end. Life and death, here, come full circle again. Feelings of instinct complete his fear. As this man of blue fights back the running of the tears. Beginning a sprint with the occasional squint back. To see if the attackers are still on track. Around a corridor, and over a fence. Over a car door, and around with no sence. Down an alley way. This is his last chance to live another day. The reds are closing in. With his legs about to give in. Nearly in tears, he pleas with God. Swearing, daring never to sin again. For his fight is almost dead. Disrupting the peace, he bursts onto the street. Spotting a police car on the usual beat. A serious glance the officer offers the nearly delirious man. But nothing more, just a smile as vile as one can. Casually driving away. Leaving a returng of that churning feeling as he turns to face the other way. And out a sound rang. Bang.