From the backseat I draw in the cherry spark.
The smoldering ember is like a blood clot
trickling through the joint similar to a blood channel.
Crackling gently the paper incinerates backwards.
Leaning back, lazy lungs breathe and revel in the scent of recreation.
Musical frequencies pulse through the skeletal struts of Dj’s car.
Rhythm and rhymes nestle close to the curve of my spine;
the bass sinking in deep into the folds of my clothes.
Blue brushed lighting flows through the windows in slants.
For an instant I find myself in rumination quickly leading to ruination.
Cows in the distance low to us, intrigued, pulling me back.
Holding fast I overcome the air restriction.
Gathering the smoke into my mouth I shape my lips and blow.
Hazy rings begin to slowly emerge from my mouth.
Taking aim I direct the loops over the back of Bryce’s head.
It gives the distinct impression of a halo
as the rings inhale and expand before disappearing
like an ethereal specter into his dark hair.

There are many things I wish to forget.
Specific past events already set,
irrevocably in the cement of memory.
An everlasting impression of stupidity.
I dog these thoughts through twists and turns.
Never stopping to reflect and learn.
These days blur.
These days grind.
How am I supposed to find the time,
to turn back the clock,
straight to the beginning.
To a place before corruption and all this sinning.
I have apologizes to say.
Amends that must be made.
But time led me astray.
And refused a soul that could’ve been saved.
The soles of my feet are tired.
Electrical short circuits is how I’m wired.
My head is full of riddles.
A torment of what if’s and little,
bits of shrapnel.
My stomach is a pit of regret.
That is why I want to forget.

I like to think,
I'm made of ink.

With very slight,
hints of graphite.

Two years ago I lost 30% of my GIRL.
A man had robbed me of it in his room.
We struggled against each other on the bed.
But he was 100% MALE.
And I was slipping in and out of consciousness.
I still remember the feeling of him
scraping against my insides.
Scooping out chunks of GIRL.
He must’ve knocked some screws loose too.
Because not long after I became mad.
Both outraged and crazed.
The madness seeped into my psyche.
Infected the marrow in my bones.
Before I knew it I was
70% girl and 30% mad.
100% human in total.

And I'm walking too close to traffic again.
Performing a tight rope act along the white line.
Clutching a balancing pole triple my wingspan.
Caught between chaotic turbulence and moral serenity.
Vehicular slaughter to my left pulses with life and a promise.
A promise of apathy, implosion, corrosion, and erosion.
The cars whip the air into a frenzy as they zoom past.
Buffeted from gust to gust my balance wavers and I feel it.
That dormant inclination towards self-destruction awakening.
And like a cat caught on a cable, exhausted and scared, I want to leap.
**** the consequences just to end the uncertainty, the stress.
But the people on the sidewalk.
Some grab hold of the balancing bar offering it stability against the gale.
And somehow I find a way to hold on.

It's fifteen minutes past 20:00.
And I'm wondering what they're doing.
Are the discreetly concocting a plan?
Or do they strategize their next stand?
The ones with a simple slogan.
In a world abruptly awoken.
And shaken in the wake.
Of all the colored ones they take.
Black Lives Matter.
And it couldn't be sadder.
That it's come to this stage.
Where we now must rage.
So remain steadfast.
Honor those who have passed.

It's thirty minutes past 20:00.

I used to have something to say.
Way back when.
Until my fingers broke.
Leaving me wincing and swearing an oath.  
Four years of nothing.
Just twiddling my thumbs
and popping tense moments out of my joints.
Every crack of my knuckles sounded
the passing of another second of idle hands.
Surrounded by the Devil's work,
I had nothing to say.
Maybe it was an emotional barricade.
A way to keep it all at bay.
Now don't get your hopes up.
This isn't a written piece.
Because I have nothing to say.