Your legs are a trembling wreck and you can’t seem to stand,
staring at the gun laying in your shaky hand,
moving your tired fingers up and down the trigger,
finally giving yourself the perception of vigor,
to control your own destiny and fate,
intertwined between struggling existence and systemic hate.
You find that the given solutions are not fulfilling,
because to kill in purported benevolence is still killing,
the end of the path does not exist in our mind,
because the alternatives we are not meant to find.
You work yourself down to the bones,
to feed your children while your own stomach groans,
you take their medications to deal with your pain,
yet you think it is only temporary and live in vain,
because the “American Dream” will take care of everything,
just a matter of time until you can provide for anything,
a nation of temporarily embarrassed millionaires,
will always wait for unanswered prayers,
instead of taking back the streets,
to smash the system and it’s elites.
… and once the frustrations overflow the gun will blow.