I'm dying slowly.
But you stand there fixing your neck tie,
trying to find that Windsor knot.
Incognito's never been
a part of my mental.
Nonchalant never shaded my words,
shielded my eyes
or sugar-coated my scratchy voice.
Yet, I die slowly: psychologically.
Spiritually.
Emotionally. Mentally.
I've drowned out my diary to the point
where it calls itself my journal.
The Negro spirituals trapped
in my soul has lost control.
The little boy in me
is sinking...sinking,
oh Lord I'm drowning,
the sea engulfs me,
snatches my air,
reshapes the atmosphere
recreates my
turmoil, pain, grief.
Where is the solitude,
where has the
tranquility gone?
My eyes narrow,
my lungs become fire ablaze
inside my own vision as I stand here,
dying... fixing my neck tie,
trying to find that Windsor knot.