On the night I was born, the rain was pourin’, God was cryin’ Lightnin’ struck, power outage, sparks was flyin’ The real one’s here, the young boy that walk with lions Around the outlines of chalk where the corpses lyin’.

Stretchin’ the truth, know I never stress in the booth They feel the pressure, me I feel like I just left the masseuse Effortless, how I’m skatin’ on these poems is proof.

its a cold world so i  heat a flask in a beaker, im the last of the Mohicans no weaklings last in my sneakers.

if my poems get published youll see the wrath of the reaper ,  and ill proly go to hell if poetry cooperative asks for feature   🙂


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