about
life as we spoke such righteous hopes so contrary with the good. what was given,
where was I, at how did she die? I loved mother but haven was hell while we
adjust to problems. to give life to drink the curse while alcoholics are raging
over fire. to suffer like passion to touch in pain as souls naked for minutes—to
hurt like living but it feels natural it frets normality. I love with problems I
feel with regrets the music is too much a miracle. it seemed it was good it
tore his frustration it banged on his mother. I know the rumors I distract the
rumors a mother broken begging or belonging to paranoia. a cookout a bunch of
chicken plus potato salad. we laugh with passion we feel with goodness so many
wrong turns. trying to function so untrained while filled with racism. so worried
so much wire as one did his first line. a ghetto child a ghetto wreck, a ghetto
miracle. tugging harder racing further as abused to win. I heard word it felt
like acid where he spoke like it felt good. to lose a few to gain a few it
seems like life. I must admit, it meant so much, while spirit was flame. to
hate a man, he must be on track, so more the conflict.
I was anxiety I was lost I had a
breakdown. many knew but still chased while people use for hidden purpose. so
experienced with misery, so many lonely nights, but it’s never enough. they
drag, souls transport for souls, while breaking souls. alert and smashing. hit a
cut and laughing. a few stayed so damn real I shed a tear. the image of game
never the ideal of game while a few like love the game. we shake the infection
we cleave to the remedy while the homy just died. too many cars I was speaking
peace I aggravated a warrior, I grabbed his face and screamed, “Please think!”
I raised many including self with a
few speaking leniencies. so adapted to it, so crazy with it, so removed while
present. so detached so compassionate so steady in a miracle. the body aging
the mind at winds while upon a second, at a dark island, such a swoosh—though ghettoes
through Watts into Beverly Hills. such life for a few so strong for a few,
while dying isn’t an option. slapped up banged out or smoking like momma died.
granny was a nightstand so fused in panic, screaming at walls. a fool for me a
daylight for me even a Morningstar. we died for reasons, it always makes sense,
to one full throttle at his addiction.
