Ready we are, given ambition, slumped in slums.
It’s a little different, despite disposition, outlook never changes.
I remember Victor, so innocent, a tear just dropped.
We kept it young, never to fathom our deaths, uninvolved, begging Mercy.
I know we agree, a soul is evident under pressure.
Anytime, any lane, just waiting to love.
I became spirit, flamboyant and unalive, so unrelated to science;
we drugged it, took liquor to it, dragged our souls across hells.
It took years, Lil Game; I feel you watching, listening to pain, angered it hurt deeply.
The music is demonic, the spirit is angelic, the human strives for destruction;
you know I remained, unto a broken breath, it was rough, most chunked game to sacrifice.
Like riding the same problem, sensing it leaked out, some agency, to decode each prose.
I’m still moving, still alive, looking intently, or ignoring all the bullshit.
I sensed we needed it, each prayer in depth, falling into dreams;
so clouded, My Scar, lost and drifting, asking God her allegiance.
To release me, to send me, on a surf board.
To remember God, as it echoed, pleading his name.
I remember you; it requires deaths, six by the chamber.
Intending to make mountains, to slug tablets, to feel denied;
so gamed out, silent, My Soul, laughing again, so
hurt to panic genealogy.
