X. It is the African name Malcolm never knew. Blue stripes crossed upon a red flag, southern pride or white supremacy? Warning: X-rated, false perceptions of the female body will dismantle your self-esteem. The X’s upon a dead man’s eyes, now a televised sensation. Laces, intertwined in Xs, shoes symbolizing social status. An x-caliber shotgun, sustaining safety and protection yet someone still loses a soul. The xbox, enslaving minds, falsifying the futile for a necessity. Engravings in a cement wall, illustrating the days an innocent man went without his freedom. Censorship smothering sincerity with endless xxxxxxx lies and senseless xxxx. The moonshiner’s insignia ensuring the masses will consume only the best posion. The target placed upon a person’s back as the shooting squads finish off the dissent. Generation X, the supposed saviors who gave up so easily.

X. The thought that exhausts existence. The struggle no human should suffer. The flame of the fearless extinguished by a single gust of wind. The sense of hopelessness and despair. The sickening instances of social injustice. The most significant issues remain unaddressed. This is X.