Monster

There is an under current to everything I think, these days.
Everything I do, each step, each breath, each moment.
It comes mostly as a whispering little voice in the back of my head, that just won't stop.
I'm guessing it never will...
"We live in a nation where a man, selling loose cigarettes, can be murdered by the police, as he begs for his life, and they will walk away, unscathed."
There is a fear in that voice, but much louder is the shame.
The horrible shame.
We have let ourselves become the monster of our own nightmares.