EnglishFrenchGermanItalianPortugueseRussianSpanish

Dark Out

222/365

Somehow we’ve come across a patch where the lights in the dark are never bright and never last. Too slow for a race too fast. Can’t put up a losing fight and win. Not against standing masks in suits. Bulletproof cars drive by prison bar streets with weaponized infant car seats. And this all happen last week. The future seems quite bleak.

A 40, a blunt, bitches, a fatherless child. A badged crooked blue suit with a slanted smile, gun to the back of the head of a deadbeat teen, nearly a child.

Black lightning invisible against the dark night. Sky scrapers grin down at the prisons they supervise. High steaks and red eyes, high eyes and red steaks are the prize.

Diminish where the finish line is and listen for the crimes hissing by. Whispers hidden in plain sight pissing on the little guy. Whizzing rounds pop loud missing eardrums but making statements clear of where they want the fear to be. The booming welfare economy of the imprisoned free slaves whom get paid and still complain yet get played by the big bad wolf all day. Tower tops hope to keep it this way.

Paint the house black. Burn Uncle Sam’s hat.
Tear down government help, demolish business empires. Entire structural classist nationalist desires. Bringing all to zero. Survival of the fittest. The world has no hero’s, we’re all witness and work within the system to feed it whether we persist or pretend to be resistant.

The machine that kills in denial of its own behavior leaves a trail of ash and fire, yet pretends to be the savior.