A shade of brown has never been so exotic and dangerous at the same time. Swaying in the wind, holes pepper the anchor’s soulless, hollow eyes as he moves onto the next story. 

A painter’s palette is only significant filled with the right colours. Like, violent red, bruised purple and postmortems black. 

“That colored boy wouldn’t be dead if he woulda just done what the cops ordered him to do!”

Slathered on a black canvas awashed in vibrant reds, purples and blacks for passerbys to marvel at a bleeding heart to get the angle just right, can’t have him dying with dignity. Another stain washed from the Earth, but not from the hearts and minds of the people who loved and cherished him.

© privatethoughtsmadepublic. 2017.


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