We raise our hands at the sound of the gun. We stand still waiting to be called on, but the race has already begun.
Time ticks slowly, as we stare down the clock. Uncomfortably squirming, biting our lips and keeping them locked.
It’s polite to be quiet and to wait your turn, even when we’re watching our city quite literally burn.
The scars are apparent, and hearts are bleeding out loud. They ignore us, and instead, feed their bullshit to the crowd.
We are desperate for change, how can you not see? But they are desperate to prosper, even if it means extinguishing the fire that once lit up inside of me.