5 year old assaulted by the cement mixture that roams the streets.

Your like a toupe on a five year olds head, bothered by the, light wind, caused by the pre-meditated muderous moter, making a circular blur of shoes with not one velcro strap, but two.
Gaining speed, your like the toupe. In the wind. but on board.
Why are you going so fast. I yelled in his direction. then i whispered your head needs protection. i mean heart. correction.
Pushing the peddles faster and faster, with every arrow, green. now your floating in the air with leaves, yellow orange brown red, no green. and on this "black-then red-then black" brick wall acoss the street, i noticed fresh blood, but only in the flickering red lights beaming from his feet.
From these metal-murdering halfway ten year olds superman shoes. stuck on the bottom, gum from his friend pete.
The toupe, a witness to such a crime. already... back in time.
Much more than the gory death of brick wall. whose future only holds, bacterial molds.
Sueing this now, mute, little boy on death row sitting as a cerial cement killer while condemned a criminal.
The little boy, charges not dropped and sitting in exile forgives the toupe. this is not subliminal.