AND THE SOUL SCREAMED BLACK.

I have Examined The antiquity of this misery from dissecting my bone marrow Using the results as a memorandum, a lens to see to unwrap this soul of mine from this stagnant membrane called BLACK. called SOUTH AFRICAN. I'm talking about the lucky I.D NUMBER 666 A place called Home they say You know where flies eat with the poor but never share their wings Where church ladies clap like sirens but GOD still watches the watches spin us into the downward spiral of helplessness Where tyres sing fire as the anthem of justice Where the disciples of master's keyboard push the hashtag with a coffin As our struggle heroes watch on as statues Please understand I'm tired Tired of the history on my skin weighing me down the water when I swim Tired of scanners melting my fingers in home affair ques Tried of being reduced to a sum of my parents orgasm Tired of Trying to find truth Beyond sterile needles, Doctor's prescription hand writings that left me like a demolished cave painting. I swear someone tagged me with this name I swear it's a daily Anguish to breathe, Exchanging the cadence of my confusion with trees and when I look into the sky I'm scathed by the mystery of it all. Why I'm I still alive. Why Is it worth it to be alive. If Sciece or Faith offers No Absolute Knowledge of certainty then why is Knowledge worth being known You Know Sometimes The Demons in my head Autotune me to Autopilot and I refrain to make my friends passengers on my crash landing plane. "I'm Ok", I say. After All I'm not the only one who's sad around here right ?.