blue line. downtown.

someone wrote panic on the concrete
and a matter of fact its hard not to
the rails whistled under the train car
under my Jordans
we are all dead walkers
the sleepy sun climbed into my ears
radiating my thoughts
feeding the cancerous cells
they split and divide
turning on each other
crips and bloods
i dreamt about being young
high on drugs
reaching at a crashing sky

lovely in luck

the words are all but curled up
cracked
sun bleached next to the lizard skins
its funny
i always thought itd be the cold
snowy nights on my balcony
eating cough medicine
with burnt fingers
blanketed in shadows

somethings always about to give

the trees were first
small bright green buds
poking their naive heads
from the desaturated skyline
pure arrogance
champions
i was hooked
like trash on the razor wire
obsessed
"happpy people don't write....well anyways."-cb