Two a.m, the taste of alcohol lingers in my mouth.
L.A. at night is a walk unsecure, as wolves come out into the cold.
These green neon eyes of predators approach.
Nightfall creates a ghost town. Darkness, a companion of loneliness.
The city is its own wilderness, I watch my step or risk losing my identity. Desperate to escape but poverty is a frustrating trap that can make one break. I can only imagine the life of abandoned corpses, sleeping next to churches, after constant battles of defeat.
Here come the police sirens, protecting the elites, the security force of oppression and brutality.
Where does love fit in this city? It is like love has been removed to save a few dollars and polluted fog put in its place.
I get why people would give anything to hold onto someone at the end of the day.
A city advertised for dreamers but the nightmare of those that do not make it to the spotlight.
I continue to fight despite no handouts.
My memories shaped by experiences in these streets.
Reminding me of what I am made of.
I will walk in this misconceived city, still breathing, persevering, until I have reached my destination.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
Two a.m, the taste of alcohol lingers in my mouth.
L.A. at night is a walk unsecure, as wolves come out into the cold.
These green neon eyes of predators approach.
Nightfall creates a ghost town. Darkness, a companion of loneliness.
The city is its own wilderness, I watch my step or risk losing my identity. Desperate to escape but poverty is a frustrating trap that can make one break. I can only imagine the life of abandoned corpses, sleeping next to churches, after constant battles of defeat.
Here come the police sirens, protecting the elites, the security force of oppression and brutality.
Where does love fit in this city? It is like love has been removed to save a few dollars and polluted fog put in its place.
I get why people would give anything to hold onto someone at the end of the day.
A city advertised for dreamers but the nightmare of those that do not make it to the spotlight.
I continue to fight despite no handouts.
My memories shaped by experiences in these streets.
Reminding me of what I am made of.
I will walk in this misconceived city, still breathing, persevering, until I have reached my destination.
For my L.A poets, keep marching on ;)
