Brian Aragon

Black eyes, black mind, everything.

Tears that wear everything black.

I swim in a black space like the blood in the alleyway, but its black.

I strive for life while it leaves my eyes and I hide.

Black is the devilblackisevil black is badblackisokay black is goodblackisgreat.

My heart goes black when I can’t be honest; my lips turn black.

I learned that black is my soul, the angel covered in tar.

Tarbaby, go grab your wings, change to black.

All voids like Vantablack need to be destroyed.

It’s a toy. Grab a bat. Trash it like Detroit.

And they chant, “Black. Black. Black. Black.”

Black is the rubber burned, scorched in honor of creativity.

Our legacy has no destiny. Don’t be mad at me. I’m not the enemy who made this fantasy.

Wait. It’s the Hennessy the devil pours on the world’s destruction daily, its eruptions, and he drinks our colors away.

He paid for us and looked at us, black as a broken heart drowning itself in its own blood, taking final gulps as it rises to a shiny, black heart.