Kiss of Death From the Hair Gun
it spits out the thinnest of dead creation
paining the one with its deadly stinging kiss
cry out, no not me
for i am but a colored crazy slave
with the letter of P. for poor
and the letter of B. for the unbelieved
but i must bear it
just like so many who have before me
they don't tell
because who would believe
Copyright © Verlecia Fields | Year Posted 2010
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