donate to ya boy

Thursday, June 21, 2012


ugly as ever
draped in warm weather
growlin / howlin
at the yellow feather
probably high enough to be stoned threw september\
figure id remember to but some pep in my step,
or trigger
moments in the sun make me stop and recollect
in retrospect i was bigger in the slums
but that was all petty thefts
or peppered steps
intimatie moments,with straight blows to the
,im fed up and sped up on
steady slammin shots amongst the a
in my eyes exists
little bits of intimate
& memberships
that let me coexist with censorship
no limits....a hint to the paradox I'm in
I got gimmicks
figure Ill spit physics
quantum leap threw the mirrors
then end up with no
speaking words of wisdom

Monday, June 18, 2012

xanyx & white women

I got one last day of my old life
ive been going threw pictures,reliving strife
I have one more night of
countless lies and white women...who spit gimmicks for dividends
who tell me they love me and then go
sin again
sentences riddle my empty bottle that echos threw the house
auiet as a mouse...i rest on the couch
trying not to awake the demons I clout
fowl words fall out of my mouth
fall keeps me paling in layrnx
pail faces make presence felt in fail safes
yet they pale in comparssion to my degredation
the only eliviation for this sado-masturbation
hanging up side down from celing fans as my legs dangle
no angles
anger pours as my wages are garnished ever more then before
never more,
the earthly godess is a whore...but her vagina has a stench my heart
yearns for
yet my urns full,of past memories,used condoms and high school awards
I fore saw this time period
it was inbetween my falling and rise to promanence
and at the prom I danced
all because of xanyx
and white women
not to mention the stipulations given had me trippin
like I was spun again
but thats neither here nor there
its back at the couch with half naked me in my underwaear
weary about time zones
only mentioning to a few friends how I feared
and how the drones over head would replace my bread
with bombs
long walks on walls to spit small talk to the other races I covet
but were segrgated like bugs in a terrarium
waiting for our requim
but If i only dream about sex and guns
does that make me immoral
or a man amongst gods
troubled problems.I tried to solve them...then last year I o'd on oxy cotin
always in a rush for the coffin
or to heaven
so I can roll blunts with my best friend
or back down to earth again so I can keep telling the rest that im not chasin him
Im just facing these
constant and out of my brain
trying to portray myself as sane when ive never been
never wanted to give my life for others...never wanted a cubicle in an office
or one set goal..
i see ghosts of a current future
their trends have nothing to do with perscriptions or comasutra
its all consumer based blah-blah lubed pros
yet were cons and we know where the loot goes
the loop comes and if im having mini strokes...but all the noodles in my dome know I have an urge to come and grow
never stay...but its hard to say...that my place is amongst the cosmos
so ill leave this for another day
when I can write more
and im not so unbalanced from all the substances I aquire loot for


open ended theology is an atrocity to me
my ideology has me balling & hurling maltovs into streets
free speech,often times
comes at a price
thats why I got homeboys who were born ready to
lonely night,buzzed out,
ready to fight
ready to write...but the pavements to dry
so I look up to the heavens with a pain in my side
wondering if tonight will be the one where i LI(V)E.
but I slide
just like my power said
fed lies threw roughnecks & power grids
distortion is
in both of these heads
its like she's the one who fears,yet,its clear in my breath...
why her stretch marks are visible in my head
and why my bite marks riddle her chest.
treasure this found in moments of bliss....random bouts of intellect
spred words like wild stories
no single theory suspect....I stick to the mourning
because souls want to be like souls I guess

Thursday, June 14, 2012

heart of dankness

for food scraps,cashed checks,brash chicks with tatted necks
splash of legs threw out the sand
rolled up blunts in one hand...
others on the wheel.
rattled thoughts of a fractured skull
& I feel you in my fucking
your energy is a makeshift home
this tattered soul is far from a semblance of hope
and yet I roam,
in search of fear
I just keep finding naked broads
all facades
nicely pinned up...big breasted...with pint up lust
trouble is I'm out like a gust
a ghost from coast to coast
spaced out on purp
a mammoth of the lower tiers.
arms outstretched towards
gloating as if there was no thirst
loathing as if there was no love
hoping that if theres a GOD
he's turned a blind eye to my sins and facades'
much like everyone else I love
this paradox is my soul
but at the very least


into the heart of the tomorrow