Tuesday, May 25, 2010


Little boy you don't even know. You can't see the years ahead of you. Enjoy this time while you can, 'cause it'll be the last time you'll have a leg to stand. They all look at you and take you apart before you can speak. Give you a number, label you into a color. So surprised on how little being older matters with choice. You grow up into these schools feeding you, forcing to keep up. New numbers, tests and standards every year. You wonder how you can ever keep up. They say you got something in your mind stopping you from reaching, except that everyone has the same thing, how is that right?

Give you pills, you refuse to take them like all the rest. You can see color and know the difference as the world has become mechanized. Rejection, expectations, you threw them out. A wagon of paint and pens you drag with you. Show them under night until the next morning they came. They saw what you meant on the wall. The lose their pills. Men and women come out of their offices screaming unfair. Boy goes on to another wall. He doesn't get too far. Oh no.

Men in uniform, scared of the change. Wanting the change take orders and raise barrels to his head. He won't drop the brush. He won't drop the brush. Crimson splashes go on brick. He falls to the ground. The men stop and cry, on their knees wondering why. On this wall was the change, a truth far from fear. Yet the fear crumbled the messenger into the corner he painted. His own end.
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