I seen a kid on the curb with a pen and pad the other day, looking disturbed and out of place when I asked him his name
Rough clothes, blood on his fingers, with several scars on his face
It reminded me of myself in the old days, sitting, gripping on to that last bit of life, stealin pens for my blood when i couldnt afford to type
I seen him get up and leave droppin a sheet of looseleaf, so I read it, caught up and let him know of his piece
"Damn kid, your shits ill, i never seen schemes like this before. What else you got? I wanna see what next you got in...."
I was cut off, he left without sayin his name, left me intriuged for an answer to the talent displayed
A kid with skill, and unapreciated creative decisons, on the street with the bags, in his face while hes sleepin
When he wakes up, I hope he re-dreams this nightmare, and realises when hes asleep with his words no one will care
Clean up the cuts, get out that rut, and start seeing it clear. A pot without a handle leaves you burnt and in fear/

One mans garbage is anothers treasure, this be true, It could be dope without pleasure to you dont be a fool, if I see you crying, about no ambition quit your bitchin, you aint gonna hook shit trying with no game for fishing/

Well the next day came and I read the paper, suprized and shocked when i seen the headline "Dead poet of societys social capers", There was a picture next to it with the face of a man, cut up and scarred with a famillar ignorant glance, It was the kid from before that was an ill emcee, Beat and gagged by some muggers after his notebook sheets....



a piece im workin on, gotta jet... i'll post those links tomorrow