“I’m the king of the streets, the realest” says the one that never pressed the trigger. “My people are hungry” protest the one that never saw his father crying. “Started from the bottom now we here” said the one that sold himself instead of fighting. Many people fall in love and I did with depression. No food in the kitchen because everything is invested in education. Educated enough to call someone an asshole, realist enough to know that’s you. My feelings were caged because I don’t want to turn into savage, someone who murders every word they spit to provoke the maximum of damage. I locked myself and threw the key out the window but reality brought it back when my mom was left widow.
Ignorant, hypocrite, animal, who are you to judge me? Who are you to criticize the things that I did? You don’t know where my scars come from and you don’t know how destructive I can be. I can destroy a country, a planet or your personality. I can write with your blood my name in calligraphy. I can flood a city with one of my tears. I can commit suicide because no other exit is nearer. Somehow I’m not here to destroy you, I was just tired of ignore you and of the ones that adore you. Those with a secure environment to who you give dreams, not the ones ending with a gun drug deal. You are the root of evil, you are the root of my hate and rage. You never did something to me and somehow to you I’m pointing my imaginary AK. Gunshots in the dark like the wolfs of your nightmares.
The bullets don’t kill and neither does the weapon, it’s the story of depression that you never lived what presses the trigger. It’s the fallen angel ready to end with any live that hurts him, even its own. It’s the fallen angel betrayed by love. It’s the fallen angel whose life has been hidden in the dark. It’s the fallen angel that proved there is no god.
By Jesús Arcenegui Méndez