PUBLIC EMENY 

Poverty…. Need I say more. Look at my hands. Tough and callused with tendons torn. Drug wars and strong arm robbery mixed together like by racial babies. Hand guns are aborted after a life has been taken, and the bullets cover your skin like scabies. When the night falls corrupt police lurk. Bloody tee shirts found in the gutter and dirty money made late night while death stays close like a baby’s mother. Shoot outs… Hand guns and assault rifles being reloaded and discharged… Bullets breaking into car windshields and grazing apartment burglar bars. Breath taking! Living life on a blade… Every next step in life leaves sharp lacerations my feet and hopes bittersweet like fresh squeezed lemonade and my only concern is being under paid.

No room for starving so I’m mobbing taking everything I can get my hands on, and Lord knows it’s wrong but my family’s going to eat or my mind will lose its last good conscience by defeat and my mind will be gone. No justice no peace our lives mean nothing… Expendable, worthless to the 100th degree. Drugs are in me… Everyday I’m losing a brother or mother to these heartless streets. Die I will… Stand I will… Kill at will… Self defense…. No finger prints… My life is dense… The hearts color now is as dark as the night gets with no street lights there… Listen……. And observe while I lay on the curb with my hands in cuffs with no key it’s rough, but for me it’s life do you are my strife and these words I might just burn tonight. Nobody never loved us… So how can I have any conference to love myself or others.

Put a gun to my forehead and pull the trigger.. But no matter how I lived when I die in there eyes I will always be a n#####…

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