Black Poetry : Crack Cocaine Sister To Heroin Death By Injection

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by ASHANTA, May 22, 2005.

  1. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Crack Cocaine Sister To Heroin
    Death By Injection


    I sit in judgment of self, the darkness that I walk upon the living dead. I cry denial in the actions of my death. I walk with honor, living undercover, waiting for the pushers to give me instant death. I wear the white collar, I mastered the ivory approval, I sit in my own inferno, my life no longer belong to self. I the walking zombie of death’s walk the streets of horror, waiting to seek my supplier. Sugar candy that makes my blood thrust. I am the pimp for the sugar coated pipe, I will turn a soul out, in a moment of time, you think you are greater than I, just take one hit, before you know it, you will be crying for instant death, my sister name is heroin the sweet taste of the vein, like a whore in whore town, you will become my favorite trick, fear not my slaves, they slave for me, I am satan trickery is my name.

    The dark lonely streets that I sit upon for my fix. The blessings that I was given by God. No longer matters in this life. I the hustler for my sugar coated powder. I blame the earth. My family cries the hidden habit discuss. I will no longer be able to hide my habit of the sniffing death. I the inner curse of my own dismay. The sweat that falls upon my face. The craving of powder brings tears of desire, my straws have no honor to thy self. My habits makes my mother look like a garbage can. I am ready to eat the jewels from her plate.

    Dignity no longer represents the captures of my fate. The soul that lives within the darkness of disgrace. Satan who I prostituted for the fix I need the next day. Sing no song of deformity, I have sold my soul to darkness, I have a loyalty to instant death. The next level heroin the sister to cocaine, nevertheless, a fix is a fix I will turn a trick, for the next fix, dignity has no place, among the walking dead. My family carries my scars, As they sit an worry about my faults. Pad lock upon there door, Forsaken me to enter once more. There is no age limit to my needs.

    I will sale my mama for a twenty-dollar fix. The ivory lead is no more. I come from money, there still is not enough. I work the streets at the age of 12, I the needed supplier of the world. Cry not for me, give me my sugar candy, I shall allow you to live.
    Copywriter 2002
     
  2. hoop4it

    hoop4it New Member MEMBER

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    That was deep it made me stop and think :?:
     
  3. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    word of wise this was heavy sista ..........
     
  4. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    thank you for your comments
     
  5. moham

    moham Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Wow Sister Ashanta...This was so realistic!
    Sad and dark..., but nicely put.
    Thanks for sharing this with us.

    :heart: moham
     
  6. ASHANTA

    ASHANTA Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    thank you moham
     
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