Wednesday, October 26, 2011

So That’s What It’s Like


By David Roth
© 26 October, 2011










Ain’t nothing new, ain’t no big thing,
slip on the ‘boks, my hoody and bling
pop tarts and milk
book bag and door,
maybe cut class, maybe hang at a store

Jarrod’s my Homey, ‘Quila’s my lady
gonna hang some, you know
nothing evil or shady
down to the Farm Store
iPad some tunes and just chill.

Should be in class, not here in the open
should be someplace else
someplace wishin and hopin
not hugging the floor, near the door
like a chore, while a wet patch spreads wide in my pants.

Come in wit a nine-mill,
fried on some head thrill,
angry and burnt out
pulling that piece out
shoulda gone to class.

I’m scared, I admit it!
that dude, he ain’t wit it,
don’t know what he’s seekin
I’m real, ain’t no peekin
my pants are still leakin.

Jarrod stood to confront him
fire one, punk, I ain’t jokin
got a hole where his head was.
‘Quila screamed, fire two,
that sweet face, cold and dead.

So that’s what it like
when the monster come out
wave a gun and start shouting
ain’t what livin’s about
It’s cold, I ain’t breathing, wet pants finally dry.

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