These Black Kids,
Loitering these streets.
Shattering my white kid's dreams.

These Black Kids,
Shouting empty speeches,
Their words falling into dark, grimy ditches.
Ha!

These Black Kids,
Sweating it out,
In chants and animal-like dance;
Let's give them a chance,
To wear themselves out.

And when the time comes,
We'll silence them; this fight.

Litter varsity entrances with empty bullet cases and teargase cans.
Pack them up in mobile shacks.
Let's stack them up in numbered packs.....

In the event that I do pluck up,
Enough courage,
To pull the trigger,
Or down the pills.
Or carry enough softness to slit the right veins in my wrists.

In the event hat shed my own blood,
To sacrifice for all useless moments I spent during my breathing times.

In the event that my heart stops beating:
'cause lets face it -
I'd  rather have that than wait for it to shatter again.
There's only so many times a fragile heart can be pieced together again....

In that event,
May it be that you shed no tears,
And instead wear a badge of a brilliant smile across your face,
Dancing to the memories  of my sonorous laughter.

If you fall to your knees,
Let it be because of your inability to control your joyous self,
And praise Him for the time I had.
Let it be not for your crumbling up in a ball of pity.

So do not pity me.

You are at the risk of wasting your emotions.

Be well and take care of yourself.
Something i failed at completely.

Don’t feel the need to apologise,
Don’t be afraid to let go.
For I find myself mesmerised,
By the rambles from your soul.

I've come to love the way
the wire wraps itself around my mind
and chokes out the unwarranted memories of our blissful times together.

I welcome the burn
that lands in my throat,
eroding all the words I couldn't bare to swallow before.

I curl at the cold that settles in my belly.
The cold that chases all butterflies away.

I shudder at the realization that my knees
don't get to tremble and shake
at the touch of your lips anymore.

Its done.

You've killed love for me.

Love and all its turmoil.

My friend tells of how she wakes up with a sore body,
From explosive *******
And attempting her limbs at crazy positions.

I say "Me too".

And I'm not entirely lying.

My body is sore,
Not from from *******.
Yet from you using it to mop the floor.
Whenever it is that you've met your woes,
I've met the sole of your shoes.

At one time,
I had to will my body to breathe even with my cracked ribs.
Because when you met your lows,
I connected fully and dangerously with your right hook
And powerful left blows.

How could I forget the time,
When I could feel your fingers tingling with joy.
At the feeling of my pulse slowing down?

Your eyes watered with memories,
Bearing tears that held our amorous moments of sunrise
And elatement at catching the sunset
Within each others aura of love.
The tears came crashing down
And I know deep inside that you were emptying our well of wonderous moments.

When you pulled my hair,
Images of our gasping, clawing, eventful, bed-filled moments disappeared.
Replaced instantaneously by a vision of myself.

Laying dead.

As is by your heart's command.

But I cannot leave.
I cannot run away.
Because when my friends chatter away about neck bites, hair pulling and tears in their lovers eyes,
I say "Me too".

And I'm not entirely lying.

I just never let the true story unfold.