I lay, in beds made for me by the Lord
I pray, when all the dreams are gone & the ship has sailed all my friends are on board.
I go, to graveyards & feel alive rather than sad.
I know, I'm living because God has my Dad.
White girls, fall in Love with my black soul.
The world, previously falsely convinced her my skin was cold.
A lie, it's burning as I put on vivid displays of word play.
I buy, a switch blade with a little switch to switch blades and switch from a six to a sixteen inch blade.
The best poet alive killed himself today.