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Oct 2020
Pushin my baby on the swing each one way,
        Bullets passing the wind not punching
me and my baby. But the fools be running
like they could outrun fate.

They can't escape the crosshairs of
  ill-prepared revenge.  
    Cadavers hit the floor blood outlines
that turn white after they felled.

I kept pushing my youth, hoping
she'd grow to an age where she
           could push her own.

But every day I playing Russian
   roulette with her swinging,
    me pushing her further so that
she's higher than the gunshots


          as they always hitting lower.

Today I was pushing her, she in her nikes,
     swinging her higher than death could
catch her tight grip...

But my neighbor she hanging low, catching
two unfollowed friend requests  flying through
the air, one in the thigh, one between the thoughts,

I kept pushing as her shadow swallowed by her
folding on the floor, her baby swinging slower
but still alive.

         Blue took her to her daddy, hope they
find out who they are as she had more than
           one by another man...


I m still here pushing my baby on a silent playground.
      No one comes here, that's good for me.
   pushing her low as there isn't a problem
of drive-bye byes... No more *******, no one to ****.
                  There is just me and my baby pushing..


Come on baby its time to go home,
                 the road is white, and we aren't
going to our usual place...


R.I.P to those who never didn't do nothing.
          


Another drive-by, grills smiling as flashes
greeting shaded window frames,
                                          hanging low.
Poetic T
Written by
Poetic T  On Oblivions Doorstep
(On Oblivions Doorstep)   
961
   Poetic T
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