The Mirror

By Red Ghetto Rebel

June 10, 2016

Lower Brule, S.D.

The impact of addiction is greater if it flourishes in an impoverished family. But the truth is obvious, the only abuser and molester of a people are the people themselves.
No “conspiracy” exists that is powerful enough to make a human being make sick and oppressive choices. No government can guide the hand of the sadist. In these darkened corners of reservation clusters the lamentations can be heard in the pain of the abused children.

Those who sit silently with the needle of poverty stung into their flesh do this for their own inglorious gratification. They accepted selfishness and embraced perverted absolutism. By THINE own hands they cover the mouths of their victimized children to ensure their silence.

Who raised these tormentors and wrist cutters? Who brought these dogs to piss on the tree of life? It wasn’t always this way, they were innocent once at birth, but only once. These depressors were born under the threshold of welfare.

They were born into their daily routine of subjugation caused by their own family judgment. Their expressionless stigma of blood quantum inequity is the perfect excuse to self mutilate.

Their elders sold their souls for self-segregation. They spit out their venomous blood degree bigotry on their own grandchildren and call it leadership. While the Midlife tyrants playing house with sovereignty and money are too socially inept to see the truth and the reality as they pass resolutions to produce their own filthy slimy oppression.

The reservation hate is as thick as dirt and blows the dust into the eyes of the eternal wanderers who search the tainted walkways for a mental escape. They search for the chemicals that can relieve them of their pain and their normalized crimes. Their drug is poverty and their high is violence.

While subhuman intellects are scrapping off the bottom pit and frantically feeding off the waste and despair of others and call it “promise”.

The drug needle is their lord and the meth madness their pulpit. They preach a form of pride that is derived from the milk of assimilation. Dried and curdled on the lips of the next generation.

They consummate their living treachery by impregnating the womb of oppression with addiction. A new life to sacrifice to the god of welfare so that they can ride their monthly check to the bottomless pit of reservation oppression. Feeding their brood with the pink pork slime and white bread of abuse and neglect.

No more born out of love, they are born out of perversion with a predatory intent. These damned souls are the cookie cutter copies of their own parent’s reservation image, raised by the whip of addiction and affliction.

The language cant save them, nor can truth, they are lost and voiceless playing the role of their parents before them. They become mothers and fathers before they are adults, raising their children like pets or toys because this is their only example of dysfunctional love.

Even now this mirror finds you stirring uncontrollably in your shadow. Even now the lament begins to whisper from the souls of your children.

With no guilt… you inhale, with no love… you drink, with no self respect… you kiss the needle. So warped are your excuses that reality is a blood stain of your former self. Your teeth expose your fate, why smile for hope when you can laugh with insanity. You made your future a moment, not a lifetime.

There is no evil spirit that kills your children. You killed them when you abused them, when you molested them, when you neglected them. Lying about it won’t redeem your act. The only “Tall Man” in the nightmares of your children are their subconscious images of you. Blaming the dragon wont hide the burned flesh of your children.

Their fate was sealed when you signed your name in the book of codependency. Their future was damned when you cashed that check for drugs.

That day when you fell to your knees for your addiction, you killed your child. Their rope was woven by your treacherous hands. Their noose was fastened by your perverted tongue.

Poverty is as much a culture as it is violence, it is a way of life. When this violence strips the human of their identity it can rape the soul at will. Young men and young women pass this sexually transmitted violence into the genetic fabric of their unborn.

The young men lose their identity and become the prisoner of their own obscurity insecurity. Like a virus they terminally infect one destiny to the next making life a disease that cycles in a new generation of addicted souls to burn the way to reservation poverty, while the women murder their own children with the umbilical rope of fate.

Only a sadist will intentionally deform a fetus with incest or meth. Only a reaper will sow the wheat at harvest time, for isn’t the wheat destined to die? Doesn’t the act of hate come from self-hate?

Denial of the truth is the real addiction. Making excuses to justify the true self-imposed reservation brutality will only lead to obesity. The mark of evil is the fat that drips from your meth spoon. The heart attack you feel is the truth, eventually the sickle finds its mark.
LONG LIVE THE FIGHTERS 

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