Jun 2018
Twenty four seven.
Bling.
Clock stops.
Phone rings.
I got space cadets dropping like bombs.
Certain smells bring back memories.
Bling bling bling.
Ca-ching ca-ching ca-ching.
Money.
Dollar bills bleeding out of me.
I got a criminal mind.
I never see behind.
I only look ahead.
And I can't remember what I even said.
It seems to me that I'm just heading forward into the future.
Everybody around me stops the clocks as their mind rock on the fine line between fantasy time and reality.
Time goes back.
And the phone rings.
The world goes black.
And I go back to the start.
Twenty four seven.
Bling.
Clock stops.
Phone rings.
I got space cadets dropping like bombs.
Certain smells bring back memories.
Bling bling bling.
Ca-ching ca-ching ca-ching.
Money.
Dollar bills bleeding out of me.
I got a criminal mind.
I never see behind.
I only look ahead.
And I can't remember what I even said.
It seems to me that I'm just heading forward into the future.
Everybody around me stops the clocks as their mind rock on the fine line between fantasy time and reality.
Time goes back.
And the phone rings.
The world goes black.
And I go back to the start.
Twenty four seven.
This is a poem about a guy who is into crime but can not remember anything at all. He thinks that he is moving forward but he is not. The week resets itself so that he is in a never ending loop of crime but unaware.
