Black Identity Crisis

Awash in a sea of songless kids
Drifting aimlessly along their grey
Adrift in mists of silent thought
Vamped and vilified by fears of the dark

Liquified mind dreams only metaphor
Solidified iris calibrated by the past
Measures only what could have been
What could have been?

Over-exert to make the cut
Who am I? Who are you? Who is this slut?
An object of their pleasure for my pain
Who am I? Who are you? Whose fault's the fray?

My face hurts
My skin erupts
My body grows
My body aches

This grows tiresome
It fatigues me
On constant attack
Faithless technology

An intricate tapestry
Voices in symmetry
Bathing the human body
On the silk
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