Lost my pen
Found a shitty one
under the break room fridge
Its runnin low
Drying out
Writings now faded
Seems almost symbolic
Of my life
Metaphorical strife
ugghhh
Fuck
FUCK
Suicide Sux
What a drag
Living in the plastic world
Light of salvation
Neon glows
Fake foliage growing
In concrete cracks
Peace and joy
In little green bags
Fuck my life
Grab another knife
Broken boy ghost
Host this dead dream
Mall XIV
Late to work
Car repairs
clusterfucks
on top a shitstorm of small stresses
This is my life
At minimum wage
Risking my life
My time and ways
On frozen roads
For the lowest possible pay
7 more hours
Til im back on slaves way
White nigger
Tryin hard
For bigger credit cards
better daze tonight
In A Truck
Ford ranger i got
Broke on a snowy day
Van still fucked
From runnin round
Driving the family truck
Battery died yesterday
Life kinda sucks
Feelin low
Hopes were high
when i was high
Fuck
I really want to be high
Still trying
Workin shit jobs
For shit oppurtunities
Holy shit am i trying
Patrolling a crowded parking lot
Stuck in the loop
Why should i care
Why do i always gotta know
Where i should go
Where i could grow
into the man
everyone needs
Where should i learn
who should i gather
what should i wear
destiny knocking
at a locked door
N
North side ridin’
Tryin to find some crime
in the van mall parking lot
Killing all the time i got
In this little black book
cookin up schemes
Rhymes and hooks
Big booty dreams
On the white ass streets I look
now recognize
remix
Officer chris
Droppin beats
Spittin licks
mall cop deadbeat
Feel the heat
Bitch
Scene Seeing
Faceless in space
chasin an expression
runnin from depression
tastes of something sweet
in my sheets
an impression
of you and i
on the street
Opened eyes
Wide mouths
sealed sexy lies
our last night
A bitterweet view
Panoramic truths
that wont soothe
our restless souls
Where To Now
how original
another “where will i go” poem
Let me guess
“I dont know”
“With the flow”
Right
Sure…
Right down the sewer
Swallowed by the world
Shit out
shittily
Goin out
Out quite foar
And near
Hell
Even here
Who cares
its a fuckin poem
Not meant to be shared
No wonder
Wander still searchin
Page and hand
For home
True domain
New names
Less sad day
Meloncholy subsiding
Fears and follies hiding
still life fighting
riding a happy memory
hangin to the last reverie
interior lighting
end of the tunnel sighting
Seems almost blinging
til then
darkness and sin
seem inviting
nightmares and gin
doldrum dreams binding
timeline winding
down
feelin another down
another day passing
shift almost complete
one more round
around the down
Section 8
High dreams
low schemes
stuck nowhere
somewhere in between
shit job
seelin fucked
a ghetto home
smells like luck
may even inherit a broken down truck
perhaps theres hope
if not
At least dope
A long worn rope
to climb down
from the clouds
and out the hole
payed my tolls
heres to the whole
USA low man. oh man..
Sore feet
Outta beat
Thighs scraped
Highs scraped
No place to sleep
No place for me
Street rat
tired of these writings
modern tithings
dead end jobs
creative consistency robbed
Dwell in brief down time
to express
My hell
stress, sorrows and strife
dissatisfaction with this cog life
Impressions of the false idle
Thoughts of the suicidal
Days never end
No matter the prayers sent
the paths bend backwards
Only whats left
Gets fucked
into a circle
breaking the cycle
would take a miracle
and all i got
black magick and a broken spirit
Pack of smokes
Bag of bad jokes
The american spirit
Can you hear it
Native cries and white lies
Dont fear it
Adhere to the new revolution
Nigger evolution
The subliminal slave age
The quiet cage
all the rage
in the USA
Mall Mold
Bored at work
Again
New shit
Fits like an old glove
No love
Broke?
Ya better believe
New lows
Below rock bottom
guess thats goin with the flow
As far as i know
I say yes
Life says no
Oh well
personal hells
Runnin out of shit to sell
While trying to by
Drug highs and hugs
Christmas Blues
Christmas season
old cycle
poverty recycled
Poor me
cant be freed
boohoo
Too broke for destiny
that the test to be
or maybe no reason
just punishment
For my treasons
i dont know
gettin hard to not care
carefree me
always worrying about money
barely born
a low class hippy
Scrapin thru
Fuckin’ christmas poverty
CJT 