2.32. We Are An Angry People

We are an angry people

Overpowered by the necessity to grow with the propensity to thrash in oceans of muck we created. Erratic manifestations overflowing from pores of the poor onto the feet of oblivious caricatures strolling through the scene.

I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead…

But very much alive in thought and ideas. Continuously moving and flowing, contaminating the sparkling water that caresses the tips of lips and coagulates before the throat has any idea dysfunction has seeped in and claimed a home.

A sanction in this new body, this new place…where we can be any fucking thing we want to be. Taught to morph and manipulate through the cracks until you believe we are everything and nothing you want us to be.

Quiet and easily unseen; we are those shadows. Domineering and self assured; easily played and often easily assumed. Smart enough to enter a circle of false prophets and million dollar penguins…done without a second thought. Dumb enough so you’ll reveal your secrets to semi-deaf, but not really, ears…always.

We are an angry people.

But quietly waiting for our moment

Mutiny

When chains will be launched and blood will be shed. When tears will cleanse away oceans of blood. Yours and yours again. So giving…the foolish tend to be.

We are an angry people.

Lost in the memories of who we were. Who we thought we should have been and who we can’t seem to explain. BUT we fight. We fight on, no matter the personal anguish, because we are cold. We will turn off switches and lash them against your back in the same notion. Not two breaths or two beats will pass in hesitation because we can give the pain we know all too well.

We laugh when they cry and sulk and crumble. Because we have lived that life. We have seen that road. Fuck, we paved it. We know the feeling…

Mother, where did you go?

Father, why did you go?

Liars and thieves sculpted from first occupancy…created as soldiers to enable, to secure, to pawn, to prostitute, to manipulate, to convey, to sway, to torture, to shatter…………………………..

We are an angry fucking people.

Tired of broken promises. Lies upon lies upon lies upon…silk bed sheets where more false promises are molded, pushed, prodded, molested, raped, skinned, burned, pressed, slapped, punched, shunned, scoured, dragged, beaten, bruised, hung to dry until the next time.

We recall the baggage, the pain of yesteryear because it’s simpler, more familiar, than your smiles and whimsical moments.

Your happiness scares us. Terrifies us. Instills the deepest, truest sense of fear in us.

We are an angry people. Hoping to get out of the darkness, hoping to taste life for the first time before it’s over.

But trembling with fear at the prospect.

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