From inside the room he watched the door knob rattle

The door was locked

His heart was pounding, 

Too fast.

 

He pushed his back harder against the door

But his hands rose above his head 

Out of repulsive habit.

 

There was whispering from the other side of the door 

Voices in which resembles his own grew blatantly louder and louder

Shouting. 

Screaming. 

Shrieking. 

 

The pain of the voices outside were attacking him

They pounded on the door

A clean hand reached in with a whip

Blood oozed from the gashes on his back

With stinging familiarity

His memory 

flashed back to the time he was maimed, called names, 

And hung 

Above their clean faces, looking up. 

 

His heart was lacerated

Slowly. 

 

Imprisoned for years, his voices were seeking revenge

Now was the time for all the torture to cease

Every day guaranteed constant suffocation,

By their clean presence,

Of another young boy

Like he once was

Again,

Sweet childhood memories

Wasted.

 

Guilt devoured him 

He gasped for air 

His body burned from the hate, screams, and nightmares 

Alone in the room, the pain of his past haunted him.

 

Struggling,

His soul abandoned his shell

Wishing he were a white man instead,

Clean of forever affliction.