Hauled on a thin board, stretched to my limit,
I was passing out and I couldn't feel my balls.
The nurses voice fading off, tubes coming over head, large machines wheeled aside, bands winding me up with the greatest of force.
Then it hit me over again that I lost blood, broke bones... Shiii I almost died after the fall, if death was the gain for the gangster's movement where then do we sit the lose.
Once came upon Atime, it was a rape scene that dropped the whole of the world in reverse, since Atime was raped by Once, then a story was birthed just once,
Story told from the tail of a tale bearer since his lips had been glued.
Standing the test of time with pieces of trouble holding the thread to his lips, he literally didn’t have to say no to the food, but he had no say about no food.
Hunger was a fit since being lipless, he had no business with expression at the king’s feast.
So his comfort was, silence being the best answer for a fool, he wished he could mumble that at the king’s feet. And if it went off way, it would have been a memorable moment for an unending role of dressed drama that would befit.
Stressed trauma addressing his disrespect, death would then be the perfect feat.
But he kept his intentions boxed up, moving with the crowd. Challenging no peer move, made him a greater fool.
But he got struck by a question!
If the heaven could be the king’s and the earth his foot stool,
Where then is his seat?
Breaking off as a kid, this is one tale grandma told every moment.
Later, she would brag about lot more stories in her mental shelf,
but mama’s caution was for me to take care of myself all by myself.
Warnings she had left, pegged to my heart, clenching to the basement of my soul.
But peer, still came for me. Called me from without and I kicked against the widow all by myself.
At first I peered,
Before I took that jump that had my knees bruised,
The pain struck me like heats off hell.
This is where the story began, it started right here.
Moments I was to take the guess, address chances that would make me go mend momma’s dress,
but I was off in a minute never to return.
Fun proposing fun all over my mental state, skating across lawns, scaling fences and failing English classes like, screw part of speech!
That had come off in a very high and dynamic pitch, between fuck the tense.
Acting tough was great and easy, I thought it would be more intense.
That was just my first exposure to the gang.
The set of peers that immortalized all the natural evil that rut in my vein, natures I had suppressed with veils, till they went unseen.
And I questioned all about this good feel.
It’s bad, but there is a lot to the feel.
Mama got a call that I was laying in the street, drunk, naked with bruises all over me.
My bones were out of shape, I felt a whole lot of pain down my knee.
My face fat with blood surging out of my nose, my momma took a lean.
All I could remember was that we took on some other gang and I was hit. My gang ran off and they left me so they could fight for another day. They saved their heads and took in the temporary defeat.
After three months, I healed.
Momma was off to work that day, so I heard a whisper.
It was my name being called far off and deep down, I couldn’t resist.
The voices kept calling, the boys walking past the blocks kept talking.
About the shit they dig, new shits they would dig.
So, I broke the window again, took a peer, then I jumped and I repeated the whole cycle.
I joined the gang and I set myself again to enjoy the feel.