his father died young never knew him to shield him from the rain starting shooting heroin at fourteen to numb the pain track marks similar to tattoos tell the story of a sad fool tragic monologue of a man who became a victim of half truths and whispered secrets his own inner demons syringes and lesions crack pipes and binges on weekends led to benders and blackouts that last for seasons for no apparent reasons he never had children he was a child in a mans body found joy in the thrill of the streets and crack parties robbing drug dealers selling dope selling soap locked in the belly of the beast where the felons roam gift of gab quick witted with the clever soul couldnt keep him from catching a buck fifty in his dome matter of fact more like two fifty too shifty his name was howie but on rikers island he was gypsy time and time again as i pick up the pen as my thoughts emerge these are those words i glance at the paper to know what s going on someone s doing wrong the story goes on a lot of stuff happens that the news won t tell you s blues on l juice snooze all hell loose state of the slums kill for a plate of crumbs fake ones they re coarse with smiles and snake tongues fuck a clan or a cult man i stand by my own all by myself grown up but fuck you im abandoned disowned im alive and thriving driving like a bandit with gold you aint got no balls so you dont understand it at all im americas nightmare im a werewolf with soul im unbearable with no fam im just terrible yo i have hate in my heart so when i tear a new hole in all your dreams and ideals momma where would you go watched my father betray me baby watched erica go thats interference i just wanted terrance to grow steering clear of all these voices i can hear in my skull here in my head surrounded by these spirits is dead who are you to trust and who i am to judge it this is do or die suicide on a budget you can hate or love it but i put it on my motherfucking mother that i came out and i aint going back to the gutter  time and time again as i pick up the pen as my thoughts emerge these are those words i glance at the paper to know what s going on someone s doing wrong the story goes on a lot of stuff happens that the news won t tell you s blues on l juice snooze all hell loose state of the slums kill for a plate of crumbs fake ones they re coarse with smiles and snake tongues 3