A single silver dagger,

rims plated with chrome,

cracked wooden doors,

and a rust-covered stove. 

Sirens are the soundtrack,

bass vibrates under feet,

drowning out the screams

as bullets echo in the streets.

Blood stains the sidewalk,

silence fills the empty halls,

mothers say silent prayers

because of silenced calls.

Innercity fairy tales, 

storybooks from the hood,

thickened skin on children,

from growing up too soon.