i wake up
shower
go to work
eat
come home
sleep alone
wake up
shower
go to work
eat
come home
sleep
wake up
drink
go to the bar
drink
buy drinks for the cute girl next to me
get rejected
drink a lot
go home
sleep
sleep
sleep
wake up
but why?

They* say that silence is golden...whatever that means.
They say that "no news is good news."
They say that to really understand someone, you need to "walk in his shoes."

Give me a break; cut me some slack; take a chill pill.
Who are they? And what gives them the right?

The silence I'm in is black.
It is not golden.
It does not shine with light.
It is empty, earth shattering heartbreak.
That is my silence.

No news is not good news: this doesn't even make sense as a math or logic problem.
No news is never good news when you're dangling off of the edge of your emotional downfall-- holding on by your fingertips.
No news is not good news when you're struggling to keep your head above water, but your body is becoming heavy with doubt.

And my shoes? They don't even fit me properly half of the time.

So tell me, who are they?
Because I want to see their golden silence, understand how their lack of news is a positive... and I bet their shoes don't fit me either.

I thought every word that you spit from your unclean lips would make me shine
I thought they’d make daisies bloom from tragedy over time
And create a masterpiece that no one had ever seen before
Something truly sublime
But instead your words proved that every doubt of mine was surely not wrong
That the time you had with me was far too long
That the time it took to love myself again was far too long
Because of your actions
And because of my silly heart
I agreed to run along
To be strung along and torn apart
The bed I made
Where I laid my head on your legs instead of your head on mine
The blanket that split our light unevenly
As well as define the line
Line
Lines leading up to what your words defined
"*****"
But no
Wait
You didn’t mean it like that
What did you mean if you didn’t mean it like that?
What else could you have meant?
After all the time we had spent
The traces of your scent left me itching
Creating dents in my once porcelain skin
Twisting our reality
And twisting your words
And molding my thoughts into birds
So that they could fly far away
From your solid ways of pulling me back in like you were gravity
My paper weight
Holding me down while holding me back from opportunity
Becoming the grounded gate that surrounded
And swallowed me whole in the end
You are no longer the black hole
That I try to comprehend
I no longer defend you while you condescend me
Like you are the sky above the sea
Thank you for showing me that I'm strong enough
To rise above and be free
Let my battle leave mementos in your mind
To remind you of the time you tried to defeat me
But failed miserably

|s.s|

You see,
i am not a singer.
I am a sinner.
I have no future
like a lady,
and my past is dodgy and shady,
at best.
Yet, you can rest.
Even though I am a liar,
i am not a murderer,
nor a thief.
Yes you will never know
where you stand with me,
but i could tell you.
But you never wanted that,
did you?
You hoped for a weekend with the slutty girl,
a week at most.
You never wanted to hold me at my worst,
only to admire me at my best.
Well, i pity you,
I pity you because you could not see the beauty
that my chaos is.

we was in the bando,
trappin, we were trapped..
cook named Orlando,
moved across the track..

used to be my  neighbor, now hes got the paper,
owns a couple barbershops, got myself a taper,

owns a deli too, couple cleaners down the main street,
not long ago we were sitting in the same seat..

back when,

we was in the bando,
trappin, we were trapped..
kitchen hot too handle,
Found ourselves a rat..

polices, driving by increases...
Orlando had a thesis,
Moved in with his nieces..
He says...

"Theyll never catch me in here,
I live without fear,
only time i cry is with this tattoo tear"

A couple days later, cops broke the door in,
couple windows too, just to let more in,
they found a couple rifles, most of them foreign...
Cuffed Orlando, his niece, and his babymomma Lauryn...

multiple charges of distribution.
couple cases of ******...
money laundering, and weapons, his attorney would murmur...


They say my writing *****, this is no place for this crap..
i dont do poetry, i just write reality rap..
and truthfully, nowadays reality lacks.
So i dedicated this to his daughter Natalie Max.

25 to life..
no chance of parole, bottle....

of hennessy,

just *** he was my role model..

They say how can you defend him, when i yell free Orlando..
*** i still remember when..
we was in the bando...




-afj