Whitewash
It all comes back to black
the color of rot and death
and a murder of crows
and of my insides
since I came across you
I want so much to shed the cloak of it
and experience other colors again
like red
the red of your blood
flowing from your nose
as my fist connects with it
gushing from your head
as the perfectly timed swing of my bat unites with your thick skull
dropping a trail from your bottom lip
as the back of my hand meets your lying mouth
but still
the red cannot compete with the black
so I wait for a source of light
to wash over me
and dilute it
and make it gray
Fat Bottom Girl Said What 