That of an ESN

Black lips sipped on plastic straws

From cream skimmed figures crated, awaiting an hour

Figures of dire fates in a freudian fantasy presume an alluring eye that might hear a Siren and see sirens flashing a future of assumption concluded in a dreams mistake.

Black lips drip white with activated intolerances and lactates

shameful little monkey mans fear of swine and mothers milk.

Refrigerated in corners and capped in silver, red and gold

They gave us free milk at school and it made us sick.

Haunting our ambitions to be on the gravy dripping trip

whitening a way to heaven as blue eyes peer down

upon our inner loathings as we peel the

sweated sheets of white fears off our conscious thoughts.

We roll on beds of agitation and stomachs churn with bile

We are caught between day dreams and grandurs behond the pale.

Across tracks made for iron or chains to pull carriage

shunted life along lines of state roll on rails of ghetto spied fate

Machines can opportunities too menial and tinned for the ignorant of plight.

Beginnings in prisons of want and aspiration skew worths contorting right.

I see me looking back at questions I am not standing in or over.

Seeing that path ahead curves off around a bending nowhere.

Cascading dreams flitter off without focus on directions.

Into traps smeared and sprung cages hold progresses motion captive.

Pressurising pains of failed rewards for tolerance endured

like carbons contained to inevitabilities of crystallised resplendence.

Refracted pain screams unheard entombed in glass for value graded purity

of colour as skin peels within veins like worming shafts.

Casts, cast no differences against backdrops of gloom.

Camouflage conceals a home for shades below where shaded graves protect from suns that rise upon no hope to thrive and flourish.

Savannahs stand abandoned where beasts not hunted graze

as black eyes stalk a coin and swallow meals of white disdain

Rented appendages sap strength and till rewardless lands

As they drag behind us leaving scars and dusty tracks

Gray slaves shuffle after trains long missed to destinations

where energy seeps out of weeping wounds of puss and sin

Understanding sighs a note, the cadence lulls and soothes

that sense which breaks a revolution long before its vision comes.

Meanwhile, in pities pit, those above the them beneath,

perfume onerous stenches as they go about their days smelling not their blames. They see not beneath the soles red painted vanity.

Trending paths lined with good intentions directed on a waypost

where eternally nowhere is the terminus in sight

And where knowing no longer need take purchase.

I remember mucus covered lips of bovine cream

blackness longing not to swallow not to take the whiteness

not to drown in whitened rivers or fall from buttered mounds and mountains that the grateful would show awe for should they know.

I will remember to remind myself of what not to remember.