Its October time, I’m still not sober: the year is almost over, “rake up” leafs that falls from the trees… Going down hill, like my identity in hell,’ will this be the last breath that I will inhale ? Will sins put me in Heaven; cents to a cold beverage (7/11)… life I have to manage (24/7!!) Open casket kisses on my cheek; my soul is put to sleep. No heart beat!! My goals will turn to dreams will my Lady help my family bury me? Tears: will people care; smoke or poor the Beer: your dead Homie” isn’t here!! Comb your hair, dress in Black like my fears. Tuck your Shirt in: life will always be certain” hiding through reality, (peek=who’s) in the streets with goons,’ shadows from the Grapes. Cali,” with some good Tree’ life will always be Gucci”when I sell my weed, or open legs to a Female that what’s to get laid!! (Novocain) slang the streets, things will be Ok’ Vain’s” memories of a picture frame!!
Journalistic Writing