"innocence"

some days i feel dead, not fully dead, just the dead that grows on our stomachs, and thighs. some days i feel death arise from my own room. i hear it slither under my bed and into my closet. There it reproduces and spreads till it covers my whole eye space. Other days i feel death manifest my brain and my voice speaks for the blackness inside of me. when were we ever innocent?
when were we ever full of white?
how can anyone consider the fact that they diserve anything? the black among us cannot covered by blue, red, orange, green or anyother color.

we never dine alone