Broken Mistrial

Broken...

Each and every time justice does not prevail I lose something. A piece of me dies. I become more numb. My sadness deepens. My view of humanity lowers. My day becomes a horrific day. My night will be restless. I will toss and turn wondering if these United States will ever live up to its Creed. My disappointment becomes a way to cope. Literally. Disappointment helps ease my already persistent pain...anguish. I could put my head in a bottle...put my brain in the clouds of weed...I could try to sex away my frustration. Frustrated with the level of hate that I do not have. Then I wonder why in the hell am I not hating when my comrades are becoming dust and dirt...killed by the police and in death victimized again by racism. How in the hell should I navigate thru this Night of Mistrial knowing that Walter Scott was another soul taken...taken further away by one or two people concluding, Not Guilty? What am I? My soul is wasting away. I am becoming void. The next blow may just send me over the top. On this rainy night I must find a way to cope. Sleep. Sleep it all away to face reality tomorrow. Walter Scott will still be dead and I will be closer to death in spirit.