...

these are thoughts of my youth and i'm proof, that despair can be brewed hundred proof. potency equal to chronic trees and coca seeds. put a razor to my wrist, watch it bleed. put a gun in my mouth, release the trigger, let me die a thousand deaths than to live as and be called a ni**er. useless degenerate, addicted to street life. walkin' blind alleys, wrist shackled and feet tied. ideas of better times and bigger things are destroyed by the roles of prison kings. on a block i watch in shock as jokers plot, on three hot meals and a cot. let the madness stop. not scared at all that i won't make it. death is in the end. denial won't delay it. ever watchful of the creepin crimson tide. either die high or get swept inside. revolving doors, parole violators walk the floors. to the depth of my soul i dive seeking more. contemplate my mistakes, even up my slate. if i don't awake, don't mourn me, cause i've escaped. gone...