These times, times of attempted self-indulgence, loud boisterous mouths speaking of Finances, unattainable to most; Dipping through the four levels of life I play my post. With a sarcastic smile masking hatred for those that put me here, you know who you are, and You know why I’m here, and still I play my post. 33 years pass like that black haired slim Bodied shortie that was in my dreams last night, for in the day she’s never there, but rested Eyes bring her and comfort simultaneously, my only time of enjoyment. To me this existence Is game like, true at the present I’m a pawn but in the end shall emerge king (why must I Wait to be crowned?). These times, times of stolen dreams and wasted efforts have brought this traveling soul to an emotional yet comical dead end, but yet I play my post. Whom shall I ask for help? No one, For helpless equates to lack of help and this equals friendship and you know who I AM and why I’m here! Trust me, I love you, I got your back kid that’s my nigga! FUCK THAT! Trust no One; love no one, and back no one as for my niggas? They come cheap, a dime a dozen. Then if so hateful why am I here? LIFE! Which was given to one so unworthy, I must remain if nothing else to hold it down for me and mine alone; MY POST.
