Mya Cristine Brooks Poetry

I screamed for money.


stole to get it
even disgraced my mother.
(it never feels good)
The insanity that plays
across my face
like a frozen joker smile
fresh from a kill
is worth the observation--

The visual movie that
screens black and white
the
only color
seems to become
shameful eyes dripping
deep reds and crawling sin
like sleep
forming at the corner of
Insomnia's wary lids
as Theft
lingers in my hands
the world snaps
pictures of me
with shutters
hidden
in the sky,
every movement demands
God's attention--

Every movement sells me out;
calls me barbaric
savage...

But I'll pay one day
I'll pay
I'll pay

and the Devil will call my name.

Poet: Mya Cristine Brooks