soon this'll be all over
Painted streets, black as pitch…white shadows dance.
Expecting the indigenous sound to fade into the black.
It’s the same sound, the crack comes from within.
The sweetness turns bitter, her voice recorded.
Motion sickness, vomiting, and chunks left behind.
Screaming turns to screeching, lips turn blue…
Throat bleeds the corruption of the heart.
Wet, cold, meat. Bowing, not kneeling.
Trust is lost in the promise, trust is lost in the smile.
There is not trust here, there is no smiling…
Copyright © Joseph Silva | Year Posted 2006