senseless shots
I didn't think I'd ever post this, but I didn't think I'd ever need to.
R.I.P, Jamile Donte Collins, June 12, 1990-August 15, 2007
I can't even imagine.
I can't even imagine, fathom, comprehend the energy and effort it just take to sustain so much hate.
Chomping at the bit 24/7, teeth worn by the friction of always waiting on the edge
Nerves pricked raw by the parents, aunts, uncles, police, teachers who can't get through
Don't care
Hate themselves as much as they hate the angry children whose future is made bleak by so many shortcomings that babies have to fight to make themselves feel more than 6 inches tall.
And fight. God, do they fight.
Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, the anger spills into bottomless pools of peerless sefl-deprecation and festers until it transforms into an ambulance ride, a prison sentence, or the cries of a grieving family that's just lost a nephew, cousin, father, son.
But this is their life.
Hustle and flow, grab 'n' go, authority 'can't relate', so instead they attempt to dominate.
Discipline, of course, is the answer: crack their heads, slap the cuffs and give a quick gut shot for good measure.
'Fucking kids. Who the fuck do they think they are?'
Men in blue scream over the wails of the caged animal, doing everything in their power to cut them down
'You want your mom? I wish your mom was here. I'd give her five to suck my dick.'
And if you ask these young studs who they are, they can't tell you because it hurts too much to even contemplate the things that the world and they themselves hold against them.
Raging bulls, they run so quickly away from life that they overrun death and take it as a captive in their souls.
Damaged. Destroyed. Decimated. Defaced. Deranged.
And this time, it took one more life.