By Lucas Herrera

The clock is stopped

Now the scene is laid ruin

I stumble to find my machine, then wander home

I notice the faces of the people on the street

And they appear so happy

But its not long till the vibrant colors fade

And the expressions on the faces are nothing but grey

But i wander alone

Irritated

I work till my nubs are raw

And I’m still segregated

From the peace of mind

Only a sane man can find

His life is beautiful his home is sound

On the other side of town

I can’t stop recalling these blood soaked memories of 17

Locked in to a concrete hole with a stitch, to sooth my itch

From busting at the seams

from evaporating into steam

while i drench myself in soapy water

trying to get these fucking plates

clean

While stress dreams and insecurities wreck my self esteem

I have a home

But, it is on on the other side of town

And when i would good off late at night

Id sit in the moonlight

And remark on the grand sight

And wished it were this lovely on  the other side of town.

Those long nights id peer out to see the guests

Enjoying themselves and indulging in only the best

I wish i could be out there with them

Instead of this

day to day

constantly afraid

waiting

for it to finally hit

for someone shouting from the window of

a 90s hooptie

with the windows tinted by panic

and the birds singing

there will be an explosion

afterwords i will lie there dead

Like some white man once said

“When the south side sneezes,

The north get a cold”

What does he hope to achieve with a sentence so bold

Almost as to be told

To know how normal

How normal it is

Instead of doing something about it

The snow is fierce

Here

It smacks my window

And makes me shiver

Occumpanied by this red light

That tends to flicker

Its the only thing keeping the dark night at bay

Its the only thing keeping me awake enough, to even have

words to say

Breath in fresh air

Please i want to stay

Still you try to teach me to believe

Its not on-purpose

your obvious scheme

like we did this to ourselves

its hard to survive on 7.25

working at some far out

Brooklyn park

Wal-Mart

And he always did it somehow

BUT WE ARE TO BLAME?

When you put the substances into our reach

You’re the origin of every disease

I will hold it in today

And i probably wont do anything about it

Ill get high all day while civilizations crumble

And not care for the factory bound children, all by

themselves

Just like everyone else