The Smell of Hell

I am young, but I have breathed in much. 

The fragile of life, like the flower- it's desolance like it's infinity-

Found in both, 

The peace and shadow 

Of all life. 

There has been something I have missed too many years, a longing, a beckoning, 

A wish to leave. 

The smell of wrong in the air, permiated me; 

It was something of invisible faul's that I just couldn't place. 

I kept walking. 

I kept watching. 

The smell only deepened; 

And like madness, I grew to smell it no more, until a fauler one I crossed. 

Never really realizing, it'd never leave, 

Until simple memory. 

Traces back. 

And all at once, I'd be jolted again, 

To the invisible subtlties

That would never leave; 

That indeed, had never gone. 

As cement is dirtied with trash and disease, so once there was blood. 

As children once raised their hand in class, but still a system we built on Indian land. 

And maybe Indian, is the way, not the people, but we lived another instead--

And forcing out, 

We forced out, 

A way of life for one dead. 

There are some who cry, from the moment they are birthed, 

I always riding OUR veil, as my tale, 

As well. Knowing luxury still where treachery is the smell, 

And yet living on the faul, and feelings of HELL, 

Because indeed my Heaven, 

Is so far away. 

I am the ill, here, amongst those who know too many luxuries; 

I am the smell to the pleasance of their odolitries; the mirror to our face in Hell, 

But only because I lived and am "awaked", which they can't know, 

Do I do, and do it, so well.