Who Knows The Bag Boy?

He is a bag boy, for the dope toy.. the filthiest ball on the court. The two guns shoot it back and forth and he dodges it on a low riding junkyard, ghetto rigged piece he designed himself. Two can ride and one can jump, just in case they spot another bike along the lengthy court, which resembles an alley way sometimes, and other times it is a parking lot or behind a convenience store, or the front yard of his auntie's house. But always, he is on bike, and he never, ever forgets to bring a duffle bag.

You think he is on his way to school. You think he is on his way to the corner store. You think he is picking up his mother a pack of cigarettes.. but he is a pawn in a foul game of chess, and all it takes is one false move, one bad visit from a social worker, and it is one more young boys body left in a Detroit gutter, nameless, wounded or dead.

A blackness, Darkness that I see

All the trinkets I surround myself with
all the things I make my life with
are slowly floating away..

into a dream I go...
...into a deep sleep; so slow...

drifting, drifting..

...far away..

...then abruptly waking into, another day..

Should I play, or should I pray? make breakfast, wash my hair, or stay..

Right here in this very bed, pull the covers over my head and say..

"No, I will not face this day.
I will not play, I will not pray, I will not, cannot face this day.
I am too sad. I am too mad.
I do not want to even say

... the root of my problems;
Why I feel this way!

Not to my cat or caring friend.

I believe it is time I meet my end!
I bury my face into my pillow.
The crisp of clean bed sheets is also a blackness,
Darkness that I see in the dimming twilight of my room,
Just before I slip away into a deeper,
Darker sleep...