When Crows Call

I see them through my mind's eye.

Skating through the nighttime.

Doing whatever it takes to escape their right mind.

Thick spirits with coarse hair.

Blowing with the wind like cheap porch chairs.

Toxic words live at the center of their tongue.

Their numb,

So dumb.

No longer touched by the things they've done.

I'm raw about how it turned out.

Memory lane is the hallway of a haunted house.

They started attacking me when I wanted out.

The flow of the water is a river of doubt.

Contaminated is the very spit that drips from their mouth.

I moved to the roof.

In this place, I can taste the grace of being aloof.

From this view, I can see that I am living proof.