The Route

by on Jun 26, 2017 - 3 min read
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The bells are getting loud and it’s raining. The drops feel like your soft kisses upon my black cheeks. Already I am not myself at night

Already I am not myself in the morning

Already I am not myself even when the high and low hits me. Despite all this and the ideal chitchat we have. I still miss you, and watching this rain makes me miss you more. Still I cannot begin to list why I messed up. This part of me always comes over me and then you see this green monster. The part of this boy who lost the African dream once he touched the shores of the Whiteman. That boy! Who eagerly cheered to be used. All for what? This mentality that was brainwashed by the media and this thought that were hindered by the masses. This age of information clearly outwitted this boy.

Yet, as the rain falls and as I watch you in his car. The smile of happiness fills your face and I should be happy but I wasn’t. Right now it’s the guilt that would make my daemons and I would be empty in minutes. In the afternoon I would be on my knees holding my gun in one hand and my bible in the other. When I’m at home and I have finished eating. Done the dishes, check the empty bedrooms and sit on the porch drinking beer. Looking at our dog, and smiling to myself knowing it would be a blissful day if you were here. That’s when I will light this cigar and walk to my cabinet pick up the 9mm and then open my mouth. I would keep your picture there, right next to the bible.

Maybe, it would be better if you watched me pull the trigger.

Maybe, it would be better if you saw that I was in an empty space. That I wasn’t alright from the start, and when I begged for us to not love. You still wooed me and with your silk webbed hands you touched my chin and kissed my lips. You remember? On that Friday night when the jukebox kept playing “Summertime”. You lit my world and by my words my my you made me a man for the first time.

Back to reality…

It’s still my finger on the trigger and the bible. I guess the reason why. Would be for you to see for your eyes only. This bloodied floor and sheets with my remains, the mirror stained with my parts. I guess that’s what makes me want to do it. Because I feel that today I finally get what it meant to alone.

I have to go now.


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