My whiteness is scarred and marred in blue,
green, and yellow. Blood, red, drips, then
dries as I lay in my bed of endless lies.
Your charm is known by all; I take the
thrashing, and I covered it all well. It is the
threat of what may come, so I never let
it be known. Who would believe my story,
who would I tell?
All friendships are those you have made
throughout these many years. I was not allowed
friends, I chose that myself mostly out of fear.
You are gone now; I do not know if you are in
Heaven or Hell. It is too late for me; I still live
in fear, panic about waking up one morning to
find that you are still here. So, in the end, you
even now, win with power over me that I cannot
live my soul continues to live under a threat.
When you were angry, your voice became a fist.
While it is I, still, who has no freedom. It is you
that always stood in the fog of our world with
Self-styled intelligence and prefabricated wisdom.