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