17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Matt
I’m home. I’m at the compound. I’m in a safehouse. I’m in a detention center.
There is a house in New Orleans,
I’m in mamá’s garden. I’m in hell.
You call the Rising Sun
I’m in a cramped office. The immigration agent has on a clunky vest. It digs into my back as he fucks into me.
It hurts. It hurts. Everything hurts.
It’s been the ruin of many a poor soul,
This is America.
I was born here.
But this is not where I belong.
And me, oh God, I’m one,
They say my name is Matt.
I got the blues so bad,
They say I don’t have a name at all.
Until it hurts my tongue to talk.
I am a slave.
I am 11.
I woke up this morning,
I’m Matt, I’m a slave, I’m 11.
I’m not anything.
I’m not anything at all.
I must have the walkin’ blues.
I’m on the floor.
I’m gonna walk on down the sun,
I’m on the floor dying.
I’m on the floor dying.
I’m on the floor dying.
When I start a-walkin’,
Only, only, only 45 seconds.
On down the sun,
I’m dead.
Good morning blues,
I’m a ghost.
Done want a few words with you.
He’s dead. Mica. They killed him.
Some happy day,
I promise.
Some day,
He’s dead, he’s fucking dead.
Some day,
I promise, I promise, it’s okay, he’s gone, it’s alright, I promise, I promise, I promise.
My trials will fewer be.
I’m in a pair of arms.
Some day,
Ace.
Some day,
I’m in Ace’s arms.
Some day,
I’m safe.
Some day,
I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.
Set free.