What do I see?
I watch as the world falls apart around me;
fear and anxiety on faces of the crowd are palpable.
My eyes are starting to become clouded by tears.
My vision is dark, yet I can see light at the end of the tunnel.
What do I hear?
The echoes of hatred ring through my head.
Come home; my angels are chanting.
I hear the horrified cries and begging for help.
The thud of the next black body being put down.
What do I feel?
The icy barrel pressed up against my skull;
the uneven concrete is starting to scorch my knees.
My swollen lungs have begun to burn from the air.
The anguish of knowing I’ll never see my family again.
What do I smell?
The stench of old, worn-out leather police boots.
The strong odor of freshly laid asphalt;
The scent of fresh blood oozing from my injuries.
The aroma of gun powder from the bullet that put me here.
What do I taste?
I can savor the saltiness of my perspiration,
along with the briny rocks from the ground.
I can taste the metal after being struck by the baton.
The bitter blood begins to pool in my mouth.
