His wound has its own memory- With out care it grows, stretches, gets infected- With tear after tear since those baby ghetto eyes- He's never healed- As a man, those tears turn into the ocean he often dives into- And soon he comes back up for air- With a gun in his hand, and the book he plucked from the bottom of the abyss- Titled "Till The End of The World"- He’s recruiting- With those baby ghetto eyes in mind-
Reason for writing:
Its hard to have peace, when you've never known it...
Birth sign: Libra
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