'Guilt' Poem by David Cleveland

I carry the guilt of past things done.
Each time we went on a run.

The beatings, the shootings, the people hurt.
I remember the blood on this young boy's shirt.

Men were placed so we controlled the whole block.
This was our way to make sure no one talked.

When I looked in the mirror, that face wasn't me.
It was Satan himself saying I would never be free.

I said, you now control the voices in my head.
But you can't control me if I'm dead.

So I left this letter, and this is what I wrote.
If I don't answer the door. Satan cut my throat.