It's black and muggy....

a little bit of black ice
to burn my tongue

A hint of lemon
for that sour, exotic flavor

I sip and swallow
cough and puke..

A glass in one hand, a box of matches in the other
a flame, a warm feeling in my throat

and an unquenchable thirst....

The stench of ****, *****, and feces
immediately hit my senses
as I step over ***** syringes
and white, powdered filled baggies
the imperfect combination
of ****** and overdose
the drool dripping out of their mouths
and the sight of eyeballs rolling
into the back of heads
I see the hookers who parade around
in their birthday suits
who's bodies resembled that
of a skeletal corpse, and of course
who can forget the music
that shakes the exterior
of a cracking foundation
half-dead bodies moving and grooving
to the sound of a repetitive beat
but the irony out of all this of course
is the transaction.....
the meeting between men
the sell of deadly prescriptions
and the lost of finances
only to repeat its licentious cycle again
but this is nothing.... it's actually quite normal
in the stomping grounds of the ghetto....

It's 3 P.M, Sitting, staring at the reruns of Jeopardy and Seinfield
a microwave steak and some potatoes
sit gingerly on the tray, crunchy and frozen....

It's 5 P.M., a bottle of room temperature beer
cuddles itself around my hands
some potato chips spread across my lap.....
the television remote and I sit inches apart
yet, the separation feels like miles

It's 7 P.M., cold, rusty water pelts my naked flesh
the bath towels feel like steel wool
every little fiber, scratching and tearing at my skin
the soap is as tough as rubber......

It's 9 P.M, bed bugs have swarmed my mattress
scratching and biting, I smash one and a million more follow
some are flat and dry and some explode with leaking blood....

It's 11 P.M. I slip into my dungarees, there's a ***** spot
in the middle of the seams.... my shovel is rusty....
the van leaks exhaust and it bleeds gasoline

It's 1 A.M., I gaze at the tombstones and they gaze back
a foggy midst looms from the hills, it's raining....
a flash of lighting strikes, bright as the sun itself
thunder rumbles the earth.....

It's 3 A.M., strolling by the red light district
a back alley *******, no condoms....
ten dollars for one hour, twenty for two
I only have five.....

It's 5 A.M. the sun begins to rise
beer bottles pilled at my door
saliva, drying at the seams of my mouth....
back into my bug infested abode.....

His eyes were a blazing yellow
choking and coughing up blood
his flesh developed sores
and the screams echoed throughout the night

We put him out of his misery
a bullet to the brain
and a star shaped hole in his head

We ripped and teared into our flesh
we couldn't breath, the mucus became thick
and the colors were yellow and red
signs of pus and blood

The masks were suffocating us
and we couldn't see...

a yellow fog hung over our heads
no smell, no taste, just air....