you will be shot,
you will be killed,
you will go to sleep,
and everything will happen again
the next day.
It will be like this,
for everyday,
every second,
of your conscious thought.
It will also be shrouded up,
and through blankets of stereotypes,
and through blankets of ignorance,
no one will know
how you die,
or how you even live at all.
you will die,
right in front of them.
yet all they see,
is an empty slate.
you can come out of it,
crawling, crying, screaming.
or walk out,
a hardened husk of a man,
where a boy used to be.
it's your fight,
it's your life,
now,
this is your choice.
Not exactly having the time of my life now,
but at least i'm not hanging from a rope tied to a ceiling fan.
not yet, anyway.
my phone is now,
my worst nightmare
my best fantasies.
Except the nightmares keep coming,
and the fantasies have no chance at all.
