Dealing in blood and poetry
Constipated cripple, walk with limps and like drugged up pimps catching back hands from the police while the criminals cruise the streets like the mayor of the city.
Kicking bad habits like kicks backs to pay for kicking the bad habits, like a bad habit that got kicked back, even though the innocent hate that, we struggle to get by with the little we need and we all wish we had plenty of the everything that means nothing to the ones with everything until they have nothing or very little of it and they see how the other side of the world lives.
Its hard when you running in the dark of the house of someone else, you forgot where the lights are until the bullet in the back of your head reminds you. The warm bullet opens the thoughts and idea of memory when life was good and you didn’t have to creep around and hide in pawn shops from cops looking for you.
Its all tragic and fearful as though we always here the choir singing the funeral song just for me, lying about what great people we are but we just have hard lives, not by choice but by pressure.
This is the mental break down of a civilization of addicts, prostitutes, drugs, money, corruption, like a great city waiting to be destroyed by the word of god or by ourselves as though god himself don’t want to dirty his own hands as our hands are muddy and no longer know the colour of there own.
We so caught up in the ideas of a planted seed that grows in us to progress and develop into no one knows what? Check the phone book for your name to remember who you are and where you were born.
You become hard like the street corners you came from, not a coward as you learnt that if you don’t take it then it gets taken from you, you stand your ground and fight with pride, never scared to stare a man in the eye and spit in it if necessary.
Walking around with a clutched fist ready to take on the world if necessary. It’s the way life raised him. A true soldier of the streets. Hardcore vigilante, protecting own interests like investments of opportunity.
Like a boss take a raise, raise it up like the rent, charge extra to make a profit just to profit like a real prophet but this is not a con but more like a artist at work standing on the corners, creating opportunity for the hungry so they can feed the need and eat from the tree of success as I see the future and mine is bright like the sunlight when we land on the island of success.
Intriguing employment of esoteric yet mind-musing phrasage.I have dabbled into 2 of your other works....I see you slant towards the darkside, which makes for (in my pliterary world) an infinitus spectrum of storyline opportunity from underlying cryptic verse, to outright tell-tales a la Poe...Solid Penning,here, indeed....Keep that pen pumping & Good Luck on PF...~FjR~
thank you very much FJR, i appreciate your honesty and wisdom. we all have a dark side, i just like to bring mine to the surface and let him walk around for a while. a real Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde.