Children of the Mafia

The adrenalin flows,
as I run from everything
that I've ever known.
Its fight or flight
but now,
both aren't an option.
Youth and knives...
...were never a good concoction.
Fire burns brightly
as we run from the house.
Gunshots soar past us
with a misguided force.
But we make it out fine
'cause were trained,
as children of the mafia.
We of elite few
or should we say,
unlucky few.
Born as weapons to fight
century old battles
and disappear into the night
If we fall,
fall together
If you die,
die alone
If you succeed,
return to station
If enemy sighted,
shoot to kill
This sad, sad game
of Romeo and Juliet,
with an even sicker twist
of a little Macbeth.
Because this culture
of old values, guns, and lies
are fueled by
blood and alibis.
Full of successors,
with all they've ever known, is;
the knife,
and the bloodthirsty will
to do nothing
but succeed.
But this "we"
I'm referring to... you,
you and I,
we are one in the same,
Caught up in all these sick little games.
Though you may not see it
all those around you,
their your mafia.
but slightly more strange,
because murder of society
is were this mafia stays.
We are the cliques:
The jocks,
and goths.
The outcasts,
the untouchables,
the invisibles,
and the implacable individuals.
We are the mafia.
In every sense of the word,
our voices are screaming
out to be heard.
As we rush into the night
when the sky fades to black
We look back into the past
where thoughts are churning
with this forsaking fear
of growing old
or being accepted by peers.
We run from the truth,
all through our lives.
The fires we burn
through all we despise.
We the people,
We of elite few,
or should we say,
unlucky few.
Born as weapons to fight
century old battles
and disappear...
...into the night.


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