donate to ya boy

Sunday, April 19, 2015

I hung my head

upon this throne of dope

switches we're the last thing that mattered

bellowing laughter through a cloud of smoke.

Ever after

modern masters of craft & spoken word

laid in wake

breaks in the murmurs of modern scope

toxic waste in the fabric of time

splices of hope when beauty came to mind

tattoos to remind me once I felt alive

I was loved...I was mine.

finding this inner strength was forces which bind

climbing to another dimension

a different time.

this is how I choose to rise...writhe

mind the rope

the length of the it cant be broken

or how it becomes.

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