My arms and knees are getting heavy
The more that I breathe and shake
I find my sight growing weary.
Thoughts filled with blocks full of bitterness,
all of which are getting to the best of me.

Pull the trigger,
His knees buckle and
as he starts to bleed
I turn, flinch, scatter, and flee.
The incoming sound of cop sirens
echo forty seconds behind me.
Catch one, caught two
I found myself another enemy.

The streets were my guide
With my closest homies by my side
"Ride until we die",
The promise we made to each other,
still lingers in my mind.
Effortlessly disguised,
we swept off into the night
Hoping and praying to a God
That I didn't have enough faith for,
hoping that things would be alright.

Clutched right next to my heart,
Revealing a little silver necklace
held a cross,
That I would kiss dearly after hearing the sound of someone getting shot
Simply because I was lost.

As a young boy,
I was taught that the streets
were my only domain.
What they failed to teach me,
was dying and fighting on the streets wasn't the only way.
Deserting me to my lonely days,

Locked up in a cell for years,
Name changed from Carino,
to the "family shame".
Battle scars stitched up across my face,
leaving wounds and traces of hatred
that medication and drugs never seemed to chase away.

When I closed my eyes,
I begged to get through another sleepless night,
Hoping that when I woke up,
my last breath and my last fight
wouldn't be my last goodbye.