Seeing the everyday worn out streets another calamitous love song.
Depression played on every radio in that burned out city.
The people who tried to shutter their eyes still saw the bleeding black body, the only body that mattered now.
My streets are filled with the blood of my ancestors today and I treat them as if they are not me, but I look at their hands their face their pain and I know they are me.
The universe gives us gifts some of us get the hustle others get the shine others get awareness which is not always so kind. For the subtle shifting awareness and a big heart in a steel cage finds an unreal world that would have you be anything but human.
It starts grinding you at the earliest age taking away your play, taking away your run, your silly. Replacing it with cube, with grind with machine. Before you know it your flesh is not flesh and you are not alive, only walking rinsing washing and repeat.
You repeat until they label you they label you and feed you pills until the picture in the mirror is so insane so distorted that you don't see yourself anymore, you see yourself Immanuel Goldstein broken the saddest song ever played on the last page of a story you thought was going to turn out alright.