I battle my identity,
As people try to label me,
My mum tries to show me the right path,
But is this really destiny?
9-5,
Zero hours,
Holiday and sick pay impossible to claim,
Expected to work for 20 hours a day,
Minimum wage,

This society makes me insane,
On the weekends I can I run away to raves,
Take what ever I can to create waves,
Not like the sea, like to much Dizzle,
Party all night society says that's crazy,

But whats crazy is the war on drugs,
Some users just victims,
Can't get enough.
Instead of giving criminal records,
Affirming our behaviour,
Turning us riot, ruckus,
snapping wires,
How about a little support?
After all how bad must life be,
That children as young as 13 turn to drugs to escape?

It's medical,
Some say medicinal,
But when your mums crying,
Her heart dying,
Because her baby boys been lying?
No one wants police at the door,
But it was gunna be the last night you swore.
A new batch, strong stuff, you didn't believe
And now your six foot under
Rotting, deceased.

But maybe this could change?
If the right support was in place,
For all those getting spaced,
People will always seek a fix,
So why not monitor, control and safe proof it.

A blessed breeze
pushes me off the tracks
to the trains
Like billy Collins or
collision consoles
whipping passed me
uncaring
like the past me

I have nothing left to be afraid of
besides maybe a tumor
and even then
I hope I'd sit back with my friend Pat
and seek the humor
And if it kills me
my loved ones should know
I died happy, but
mostly annoyed
and I'll be watching
when you pull out your lap top
and you lock your door
You pull out your tube sock
and I'm judging you
I'm taking pictures
and I'm laughing at you
Sitting there with Rooha
maybe with a lit blunt
Maybe where I go next
I'm not an addict

But for now my mother says
I'm probably healthy
Google searches disagree
In a world where our god
is broadcast through screens
All knowing
All powerful
Screens
Who should I believe?

I still get a dark taste
watching the un thoughtful mass
of clumped up, spot cleaned suits
pursuing what?
Fancy tooth brushes and
the newest carpet cleaners?
But then my train
ascends
I look at the Brooklyn bridge
and the statue who stands so
confused, over
what she is meant to represent
and I'm okay

You'd be okay too
if after ten years of dirt and fog
you were headed to Central Park
to walk a dog

I had a bundle of hair I held in the air full of instant noodle powder.

And still I held It towards my heart to fight all the silence.

All the noise as it got louder.


And I had held still.

I was what a good boy was.

A well taken care of soldier.


But.

I mold instead into an iron-built building.
A brown-person shield that still stands!

**** the man and all his agriculture.

It's just a vulture that feeds on flags.

A pig that ****** on nations.


An aggregation of aformentioned mobile folks who will never stoke a fire or feel heaven sent heat.


The beaten. and Absorbed.
The bit of humanity we can't afford.


It'll all go away
It's my duty.
To thank you for the time.

And now all I can do is rhyme to thank you for the truth.

Let your name be curved on to my lips
Let the blood lust crave for the emotional breakdown
Let your voice be heard in the intensity of the alphabet
Let the days start mendicant with memories of you and I
Let the dizzle  escalate this sweet moment
Let the bemused tension be felt in the stomach
Let the round of this game be zoomed in the streets of Florida
Let the bang at the door be darkened by your steps
Let the hair stand on edge close to mine
Let the invite to your domicile be sent by the birds
Let the wander of this heart rest in your embrace
Let flames of fire put a scar on to our souls
Let beauty intertwine to crash this empty thoughts