S M O T H E R …

With a longing to breathe once more, he felt as though he was fairly positioned to relate to a prisoner of war. He could feel the distance between his home and his current location. An anger directed at the tears that flowed from his eyes rested upon him for they were a betrayal to him. A betrayal neither to his strength nor manhood, but an act inspired of Judas -his tears also left him. The beating of his heart carried along rhythms of torture deeply accompanied with the acoustics of hell. At this point, wouldn’t it be better to give up mortality to fully embrace the metaphysical?

A keen attention to his eyes would reveal the poverty that had overtaken his fountain of humanity drying it up leaving only a caged and wounded lion in the shells and confines of a body with a yearning for retribution. You would feel a poison rising out of his mourning and a thirst for destruction brewing in place of sorrow. Thoughts and memories, like moving pictures in his head, started to race replay one after the other. Cut the man loose from his purpose and watch the evolution of him into a brutality that only exists in souless creatures that bleed not, feel not and die not. You take the spirit of a man from his body the consequence is the permission of demons to posses that body and give the world a glimpse of an apocalypse.

Moving pictures in his head- he saw the two men kick down the doors of his house and with absence of thought and compassion put a bullet right through his mother’s head. His heart sank! He saw them smile. In the same moment, he saw another pair of men storm in with such misdirected inspiration and evil motivation walking towards where the sons were seated in shock and ran a dagger right across their necks. His heart was now six feet deep. In this moment, he grew cognizant of the fact that even with a death sentence pronounced upon these men, it would still fall short of justice. His hope joined his heart six feet into the ground. Never a believer, yet for the first time he yearned for divine justice.

The attackers left him there to gaze upon the evidence of the depraved human soul. They reminded him that he did not belong in that land. They reminded him he was not fully human but partially animal. His tongue grew weary of the utterance “#stoppolicebrutality”. His soul was fatigued of hopeful songs. Within him, was an emptiness in desire of death to be an end to his pain, the hunger within him pants for retribution with an aim to provoke justice. The conscience within died and a thirst for blood.

He knows that in his retribution, he will be labelled a criminal and maybe even a murder. If you have never supported a criminal, a villain -this is your chance.

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