Elsewhere: Toy Guns

My mind is elsewhere 
But as I write this I’m like who the Hell cares? 
Maybe the insomnia still has me out there 
I can still hear my brother near 
When I turn around no one else’s near
but the occasional smalls boys making noise playing with toy guns. 
Then I stop to wonder why we readily give such things to our sons? 
There is no timeout for murder 
There’s no second chance to not take it further 
Your mama’s yelling for you to come home Can you imagine how badly it’d hurt her 
if you heard her but couldn’t make it back.
You’re on a journey through the Spirit World – there is no way back. 
Mama’s yelling for you to come home 
Then she starts screaming because you died alone & now she’s alone but no matter the amount of tears, pleading, & screaming you’re not coming back home.

Still have fun practicing for the kill 
Maybe one day you’ll keep it so real 
that you grin at the cameras knowing your capture is on film. 
You’re a cold hearted son of a bitch 
that mama is still yelling for to get home.
So you make plea agreements & become a snitch. 
You’ll make it back to your mama’s home someday 
But now you’re locked away 
While the other mama still prays you’ll get yours someday. 
Maybe another inmate who used to play with toy swords 
Gets pissed at your choice of words 
and that’s it: if you’re alive you’re not walking anymore. 

Mama’s calling you to come home but you’re elsewhere and besides her who the hell cares?

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