The halls are silent here
There is chatter, smatter of painted
smiles and mohawks and hi tops here
no noise, no hitting
The silence has a vicious edge to it like
get up, shut up, keep shuffling
a slow blunting of stymied minds
because Success is already defined in the dictionary
religion is interpreted literally
and everyone needs their holy book;
the walls laugh like gods.
We are all so lucky here
but why does the air still bruise us? Well,
the violence is in the innocent eyes, smooth
guile, so well-practiced and reflected
that it fools the liar
I've been spit on and shit on and cast in
Everyone drives with gaslights that throw shadows
into the street
under every bus
Darkness drags its segmented legs behind it
heaving its shell into my throat
choking all the beating things inside
and I let it.
Or rather, they fed it with mouthfuls of me.
The violence is quiet so these halls just soak it up
no crumbs of the person remain
not one drop
No one notices.