road dawgs in memory of ty
"i had to get away from that thing, that hulking monster of a life, that addiction with no plans of asking me when or where we ought to stop - just driving and driving into and through the night until i forgot where i came from in the first place and where we were going - i just knew i needed to get home. except i'd never had any home, no place that wrapped me in it's sidewalk arms and pressed me to it's sky-scraper chest saying to me, "this is where you will live, this is where you will love and where you will come to understand joy and pain. sit down sweet child, rest your soul here on my endless streets, you have come such a long way. sleep here in my alleyways and my shooting-galleries, find comfort in the shared misery i bind you up with. the chains of sorrow that will lash you to those you will call lovers, soulmates and partners."
i am a junkie, a liar and a cheat. i wake up feeling like a pitbull scheduled to be put down for biting his owner. after having been faithful and reliable ten long years, having been a good dog and friend. at least until he'd started beating the wife and kids, until i had to bite the hand that fed me. i'm a poet and a writer with tact like a sledge-hammer. i am trying. this is how i release everything when nothing else will help; i display my pain, pleasure, single round k.o. and endless losing battle alike. when everything outside me stops working, when i hurt enough, this is what i turn to:
words. words are all i have, in the end, they are all i need. a mic, a voice, a soul and a choice. a little skin, a bit of sin, a whole lot of dreamin' and a devilish wicked grin; see, the hell i'll end up in, for doing this again, a room full of paper and not a single fuckin' pen." -sick boy
i had to put it in here ive been reading it over and over and over for that past days, their smart words, and their real. thats what makes em so good their real.
i am a junkie, a liar and a cheat. i wake up feeling like a pitbull scheduled to be put down for biting his owner. after having been faithful and reliable ten long years, having been a good dog and friend. at least until he'd started beating the wife and kids, until i had to bite the hand that fed me. i'm a poet and a writer with tact like a sledge-hammer. i am trying. this is how i release everything when nothing else will help; i display my pain, pleasure, single round k.o. and endless losing battle alike. when everything outside me stops working, when i hurt enough, this is what i turn to:
words. words are all i have, in the end, they are all i need. a mic, a voice, a soul and a choice. a little skin, a bit of sin, a whole lot of dreamin' and a devilish wicked grin; see, the hell i'll end up in, for doing this again, a room full of paper and not a single fuckin' pen." -sick boy
i had to put it in here ive been reading it over and over and over for that past days, their smart words, and their real. thats what makes em so good their real.