[Intro]
Ain't this what they've been waiting for? You ready?

[Verse 1]
I used to pray for times like this, to rhyme like this
So I had to grind like that to shine like this
In a matter of time I spent on some locked up ****
In the back of the paddy wagon, cuffs locked on wrists
See my dreams unfold, nightmares come true
It was time to marry the game and I said, "Yeah, I do"
If you want it you gotta see it with a clear-eyed view
Got a shorty, she try'na bless me like I said, "Achoo"
Like a ***** sneezed, ***** please before them triggers squeeze
I'm gettin' cream, never let them hoes get in between
Of what we started, lil' ***** but I'm lionhearted
They love me when I was stuck and hated when I departed
I go and get it regardless, draw it like I'm an artist
No crawling, went straight to walkin' with foreigns in my garage
Got foreign ******* menaging, ******', suckin', and swallowin'
Anything for a dollar, they tell me get 'em, I got 'em
I did it without an album
I did **** with Mariah
Lil' ***** I'm on fire
Icy as a hockey rink, Philly ***** I'm fly-er
When I bought the Rolls Royce they thought it was leased
Then I bought that new Ferrari, hater rest in peace
Hater rest in peace, rest in peace to the parking lot
Phantom so big, it can't even fit in the parking spot
You ain't talkin' bout my ****** then what you talkin' bout?
Gangstas move in silence, ***** and I don't talk a lot
I don't say a word, I don't say a word
Was on my grind and now I got what I deserve **** *****
Hold up wait a minute, y'all thought I was finished?
When I bought that Aston Martin y'all thought it was rented?
Flexin' on these ******, I'm like Popeye on his spinach
Double M, yeah that's my team, Rozay the captain, I'm the lieutenant
I’m the type to count a million cash then grind like I’m broke
That Lambo, my new *****, she'll ride like my Ghost
I'm ridin' around my city with my hand strapped on my toast
Cause these ****** want me dead and I gotta make it back home
Cause my momma need that bill money and my son need some milk
These ****** tryna take my life, they **** around get killed
You **** around, you **** around, you **** around, get smoked
Cause these Philly ****** I brought with me don't **** around, no joke
All I know is ******, when it comes to me
I got young ****** that's rollin' I got ****** throwin' b's
I done did the DOAs I done did the KODs
Every time I'm in that ***** I get to throwin' 30 G's
Now I'm hanging out that drop head, I'm riding down on Collins
They like, my ***** back home that young ***** be wildin'
We young ****** and we mobbin' like Batman and we're Robin
This 2-door Maybach, with my seat all reclinin'
I'm that real ***** what up, real ***** what up
If you ain't about that ****** game then ***** ***** shut up
If you diss me in yo' raps, I'll get your ***** *** stuck up
When you touchdown in my hood, no that tour life ain't good
Catch me down in MIA, at that Heat game on wood
With that Puma life on my feet, like that little engine I could
Boy I slide down on your block, bike on twelve o'clock
And they be throwing dueces on the same ***** they watch
And I'm the king of my city cause I'm still calling them shots
And these lames talking that ******* the same ****** that flopped
I'm the same ***** from Berks Street with them ***** braids that lock
The same ***** that came up and I had to wait for my spot
And these ****** hating on me, hoes waiting on me
Still on that hood ****, my Rolls Royce on E
They gon' remember me, I say remember me
So much money have ya friends turn into enemies
And when there’s beef I turn my enemies to memories
With them bricks they go from 40 ain't no 10 a key, hold up
Broke ***** turn rich, love the game like Mitch
And if I leave you think them pretty hoes gon' still **** my ****?
It was something 'bout that Rollie when it first touched my wrist
Had me feeling like that dope boy when he first touched that brick
I'm gone

i remember when my mama took me up the mountain,
she told me,
"now, you are ready."
and pine and oak softly fluttered their leaves at my arrival.
there were yellow flowers,
growing wildly,
strangling the delicate blue blossoms,
made of flimsy roots and spindly bosoms.

i was the youngest in a tribe of
golden skinned people;
dreadlocks, tattoos,
moon cycles on the sides of their eyes,
and hair like cattails whispering in the dark.

with my stomach churning,
i entered the tall, dimly lit tepee.
the medicine man sat churning the ashes
in an empty fire-pit,
and women stood around me scattering
flower petals like
soft skin
all over the red-dirt earth.

his eyes twinkled,
and told me things that he would only let the
dusk unfold.
i took my seat on a white sheep-skin,
settling myself.

as the night grew older,
the fire grew larger,
shapes elongated on the fair skin of the stretched
tepee,
the flames dancing wildly,
smoke drifting up into the
starry dark.

the fire keeper stoked the raging
yellow and orange tongues,
and the medicine man sat with a bandanna on,
his waterfall nose moving,
and his leather brown skin creaking,
as he told us stories of the sacred medicine.

and we sat,
somebody started singing.
my mothers warm frame was close to mine,
and my step-father next to her,
shoulders touching in the close proximity,
intimate, smoky air.

they beat the deer-skin drum,
badum badum *** badum badum ***
in native languages like
roaring rivers,
they sang songs to the medicine,
for the opening of the heart;
their swift and strong voices
rising like smoke and flame.

when the drum was passed to me,
i didn't know any songs,
wasn't aware that i had to know any.
i started to hit the drum with the padded
stick, and
closed my eyes,
feeling the sticky sweat of my perspiring forehead
drip down upon my licked lips,
tasting of wood and dirt.
i sang something lilting
sounds coming from the deepest
crevices of my throat,
being gently pulled from the grasp of my ribs.

the medicine man put pine on the fire,
it sizzled and breath was filled with
sweet and sharp.

when the air was right, and
the night was thick with song,
he uncovered baskets of small,
green and ridged fruit-like shapes.
"buttons,"

the medicine was taking her form, and was cradled
as a native man took it around the circle,
along with oranges.
i'd find out soon why.

i took two, small and light in my fingers.
i closed my eyes and took the first bite.

my mouth was struck, eroding teeth
and erupting tongue
my face contorted from the bitter juices the small fruit
held within its delicate skin,
my stomach churned and i swallowed it down
biting into the orange, skin and all
begging for a shock of zest to take
down the intense flesh of the medicine.

i looked around,
some people were on their third, fourth.
the beat of the drums was constant,
along with the quiet,
restful crackle of the sighing fire.

the second bite was less of a surprise,
and i finished my first one.

it was only at the third bite of the second button
that my stomach refused to go any more without
heaving,
the astringent juices of the
small fruit working its magic on my stomach.

i closed my eyes and embraced what was around me;
slowly swaying in the deep voices of my
family,
mi familia,
'ohana,
and the heartbeat of the
mountain drums.

soon, i felt weary.
my mother rested her hand like falling rain on my shoulder,
and i lay in the warm arms of her
shawls,
twisting around me like snakes.

a traditional rollie was passed around,
made of corn husk and hand grown tobacco.
my eyes grew slow and drooping,
and i fell into the waiting arms of sleep
while listening to the music of
tobacco and wood smoke, hushed voices,
wilting night,
dancing fire, and alive laughter.

my sleep was deep and dreamless,
my body carried to other places by the medicine,
leaving my mind behind.

i woke to rough feet on the red dirt,
and my mother and father intertwined like red roses,
sleeping below the tepee's watch,
my mothers white skirt fanning out like
soft sheets in the summer
walls.

there were goodmorning smiles,
light spreading from one set of a skin to another,
as my family embraced me,
told me they were proud and grateful to me
for sitting with them.

a bowl of chocolate was passed around, along with a crate
of juicy, pink, dawn touched strawberries.
i dipped them in the dark, sweet and rich paste
and one after another,
felt myself expand into the universe even more.
only when my mother awoke,
to sprinkling flowers,
and lifted sky,
she told me that the chocolate held the medicine too.

i made my way across swaying, long grass,
and sat in the sun, sipping tea with a sliced lemon,
making art with twists and curls of my pencils and pens,
listening to the experiences of last night,
the enlightenment,
the sense of overwhelming love,
that was not quite drowning.

i basked in everything,
let the heat soak into my flesh,
the lilting laugh.
somebody handed me a guitar,
and i sang with my chocolate tinted lips,
and let my voice float within and around the mountain,
filling the tepee and the empty fire pit
once more,
with the sweet and bitter tastes of
the medicine
*peyote.

In B and B flop-houses, poems I wrote,
Stuffed into damp pockets, of a Donkey-Jacket coat.
Poems about building-sites and too much beer,
Being far from home, despair and fear.
I read them to comrades, who all nodded their heads,
Then went back to sleep, in one room with eight beds.
I read them to lads, who for the first time,
Sat and listened, to words, their rhythm and rhyme.

Folkestone, Dover, Hastings, Brighton and Hove,
I wrote poems, by the light of a Camping Gaz stove,
Describing MY feelings, MY way of life,
Cut straight to the bone, like a Stanley Craft Knife.
The Channel Tunnel, dumpers and cranes,
Concrete burns, bruises, hangovers. . .shame.
Days without eating, nights full of drinking,
Hours on a Shovel, digging without thinking.

Then along came the books, I started reading at night,
Discovered Jack London, by wind-up torchlight.
I read more and more, captivated by books charms,
As my work-mates pursued , bar-maids down the Kings Arms.

Then one day, McNamara, with his belly full of beer,
Came looking for me, called me a queer.
". . .Reading and writing ??? Its NOT for the likes of us. . ."
I agreed begrudgingly, with this. . .. back-end of a bus.
He helped me gather up, my words and my books,
Into a couple of barrows, like scrap-metal crooks,
And wheeled them over, to where we burned the pallets,
Electric cable(for the copper)and broken slab-laying mallets.
They went on the embers, which began to ignite,
And from my caravan window, I watched them burn through the night.
As they glowed, I felt pity, not anger,
At the ****** ignorance, of this eighteen stone Ganger,
Who believed words were impotent, compared to the fist,
Our lives were mapped out, digging trenches, getting ******.

But the books had given me hope, that life was for living,
Not dying at Sixty, when your body just gives in,
Knees knackered, back broken, knuckles dead with rheumatics,
From working in all weathers, holding hammers, pneumatic.

Days later, on a Porta-Loo, McNamara settled down,
With a copy of ******* and a hard-on to pound.
He never smelled the petrol, mesmerised by *******
And pleasured himself, quickly, across the bottom of his vest.
Sparked up a rollie, relieved and relaxed,
Thinking of Fridays time-sheets to be faxed.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM !!!!!

We heard the explosion, looked to the sky,
Saw Doctor Who 's Tardis go flying by.
But it wasn't a Time Lord, just a burning box,
With a melting Eighteen stone Ganger, still holding his ****.
McNamara, was identified by the fillings in his teeth,
And buried, by the Council, just outside Haywards Heath.
If I hadn't continued writing, McNamaras threats, defied
No-one would know about him, or the way that he died.

Books and words are everything, they lift the mind
and they raise the anchor,
And they let me tell your tale, McNamara. . . .
How you lived and died. . .a ******.

maybe it's because you're older,
older men draw me in like some sort of musk
a scent, a magnet that i follow
craving more every step i take closer.

it's your eyes that really tell me
-green and lazy, almost dreamy without the fantasy-
they follow and i watch,
and sometimes i imagine they're directed my way
but it's like trying to make out truck headlights from
miles off
i can't tell if their coming or going.

you have lips that i imagine are soft
gentle enough to balance
a tobacco rollie on their shoulders perfectly
yet strong enough to form around words,
singing into a night already full with
your strums.

i ache to be strings
to have your fingers spread over me,
plucking my edges and
making a lullaby out of my limbs--

you speak foreign things
arabic and soft,
and i want you to explain what you mean
into my mouth with your hands
gentle around my waist.

You want me to
write my heart out on my sleeve,
then pull the thread,
unravel it,
patch it up,
then again,
then cut that arm off
and burn it.

Shovel my thoughts
into tidy piles,
then spill the milk
and muddle them up
then sop 'em up and
mop 'em up
'til I'm left with blurred lines.

Stuff my feelings in a jar,
toss them with ingredients
that don't mix
rollie pollie
with a dab of Ranch
and it's all ****** up.

Y'all want the key
to my mind -  
an old closet that leads to
a tunnel that leads to
the grave of my buried thoughts.

I opened the door
and I was pushed from behind
then told to "lead the way".
To "find the truth
in all your ways" -
one arm out
reaching in the dark;
a ******* a mission,
searching for her heart...

I fell in a hole.
Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust.
It started to rain,
I was surrounded by mud.
The door closed.
Which one of you all
care to open it again?

Mind infused with different poisons
those that inhibit the socially acceptable you
and strip you from the guard you have up
all the time

He drove home
across the the hazy lit highway
the street lights were so hazy
they had no borders
they were floating
just like her mind

She was sitting in the passenger seat
legs up on the window
head back

He was silent
trying to find an ounce of sobriety just to get them home

Suddenly he parked
"we're here"
she gathered her loose limbs
and her levitated mind scavenged for her purse and shoes
in the back
she always takes them off during car rides
she likes the fleeting moment of the wind against her feet

She got her keys out
and opened the door
he followed her,
They've been living together for quite sometime now
but with her, sometimes she wants to be alone
and kicks him out, others, she longs for him to warm
her bed, his side of the bed at least

They got home, she rushed to her room
to play some music, sometimes the silence
terrifies her, she finds sanctuary in deep beats
even some acoustics to compliment the night

She let it shuffle
as she undressed a certain tune started to play
for some reason it injected the night with a perfume of seduction
one that awakened her from the toxic senses
and inhibited her, wholey

She looked at him sitting at the end of the bed
rolling his cigarette
in his boxers,
It was the middle of August and her AC was broken

"Gahd ****** that song"
The darkness of the night embraced her being
it stripped her from the proper person she always is
it stripped her from that dress that carefully fell on her curves
it broke her guard, it dilated her pupils
she knows what she wants

He looked at her
as he shred the tobacco
as she undressed
her sunkissed skin made him jealous
jealous of the fact that every ray tattooed
a part of its glow on her
on her silhouette
He knows what he wants

"tick" Electricity went off
"****" she said
"my rollie" he said

She turned her back to find a t-shirt
he saw the glow of the moon align her spine
and rest at the curve, that little dip at the end of her back
He loved that

"She's ******* gorgeous" he thought
He put the rollie on the side
and got up
and slowly settled his hands on his hip bones

he shadowed her from the back
his pounding chest released ripples of goosebumps on hers

They both were infused with that song
it's like they were hypnotized by every beat
their beings were guided by the night

He turned her and kissed her
well, tasted her, and abruptly stopped
he teased her
she wanted more,
she curved her hand around
his neck, got him closer
and savored him, her lips tasted like
godly wine, he thought
he loved the way, their tongues waltzed
to that **** song, their emotions twirls
as their tongues did
he embraced her, as if some sort of power
is drawing him nearer
and she bit his lip wanting more

He carried her to bed
or as she called it
"the playground"
Guiding his hand from her back to her head
so as to lay her gently
she wrapped her legs around him
and let gravity take its toll

He lay her there,
jousting kisses, interrupted by
the short lived piano beats the song played
with every note she took a breath so as to resume
to her lover, with such burning passion

"I want you" she says
when he heard her whispering voice
his body vibrated with lust, she was his woman
his lover, he felt her wetness
her rose awaiting to welcome him
she was shaking with burning anticipation
she nailed her hands in his back
he wanted to be inside of her
he wanted to feel her warmth against his manhood
he wanted to awaken the untamed version of his lover
that he and only he knew

He loved how her voice vocalizes pleasure
adding sexuality to the song as it blasted in the background
he entered her, she looks at him
her eyes speak volumes when
he marveled at her body
her curves, how her breaths and her ******* moved simultaneously
how everything he did made her move beautiful
even the way she kisses him differed
his chest pounding
his love for her multiplying
her legs pulling me
it was her lover
submitting to his natural state
and her to her wild one
she glared at his dark hazel eyes
he knew
she wanted control
he slowly raised her
and set himself below
weak in front of her
facing such a beautiful woman
with an arched back
and the movement of seductive goddess

She knew how to stroke his fancy
how to pleasure his lust
how to play with his naughtiness
how to dance with his demons
how to control his peak
and how to tease it
with every movement of her waist against his
he moans, loving the mental and physical connection
he rests his hands on her hip
slowly guiding her

with the song, she moaned
shaking from the flood of pleasure
he embraced her
feeling her clenching to him
not wanting that moment to flee

as she lay on his chest
the song kept looping
his heart kept beating
in sync with her breathing

Bells chime, ding ****.
Cue the long run.

Rumbling empty belly
of a concrete anthill.

The same faces, same routines
same air, same space to fill.

Run, children, run!
Two hundred green pullovers

move in unison.
And the beautiful ones detach themselves

with heavy lungs
they inhale the fresh air

stamp out rollie butts.
Nobody cares.

Eat, sleep, bleat.
Two hundred green and grey sheep.

Day in, day out.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.

when i was a child
i drew an outline
of my future
with broken chalk
across the side
of a road that
no longer exists

you see
when the eyes
persist
they reimagine
the past as some
kind of bad joke,
or a science
experiment

when i was a child
i was forced to make
love to people
who didn't deserve
it;

i guess asking
for permission
didn't exist back
then

or were we all too
scrambled in our brains
to get our bodies
to do what we say?

instead they just gave
into their instincts
and impulses

our tiny naked bodies
under ***** blankets;
tightened fists, kicking legs
and strained muscles

the trees outside
still swayed as though
they never had mouths
to feed, as though
they weren't desperate
to think, feel, or be
free

it all came so naturally...

when i was a child
i broke twigs in two,
kicked empty beer
cans, and poked
rollie pollies
in their bellies
until they got
sick and threw up

i laughed, cried
and wished that
i could die

i did this well
into my late
twenties

until i realized
i was going to live
for a long time

then i said **** it,
**** the world,
**** the creator
he, or she
doesn't exist

they were never
there to stop
my father
from his routine
abandonment

they were never
there to stop
my mother
from withholding
nourishment

sometimes
there aren't enough
words and wishes
to conceal the truth
from it's own existence

it has to live
in order for
me to die

perhaps, it's been a joke
all this time and i've
been to stuck up
to spare a laugh
or two

i smile more
than i often believe
i should

but at least
i know my body
is strong enough
to rebel against my fate

when my mind is
too afraid to make
the change

I haven't smoked once today
for the first time in weeks.
Dear God - please,
give me a cigarette. Please
give me a line or a drag
of a joint, or a glass of wine
or a hug or some sunlight.

Work in seven
hours and I've been crying all evening.
But why? For no
**** reason. Paid tomorrow,
and I might
spend it all on drugs or a tattoo,
or tobacco or I wonder
could I pay someone
to love me.

I'm trapped
in an I'm-not-OK-hole—
in a *******.
In a thousand-of-miles-from-the-city hole.

I'm a session moth.
Wake up like a ******, rollie
on the bedside locker.
Not knowing where I am
or how I got there. Jump
into the nearest car and just say
"drive"
and eat nothing but still look fat.

This morning I was suicidal,
I nearly walked out in front of a truck.
But it was alright,
I remembered
I hadn't taken my pill in a day or two,
stopped crying and
went back to work.

When I was five,
I filled my doll house with almost
a hundred rollie polies
(Trust me, I counted)
Simply because I wanted them to have
A nice home.

Dirt wedged under the nails
Of eager hands that hunted.
The small bugs curled into
Little planets
As they rolled to the center of my palm.

One by one,
They went into the worn, plastic, cup.
I peered closely at them in sheer admiration,
As though they were the equivalent
Of a puppy underneath a Christmas tree.

They were taken to the room of
Bunny rabbit wallpaper and afternoon naps.
Each one placed after
Careful deliberation
Into the room it would like the best.

Then, a blur:
The shrieks of my parents,
A hurried search party,
And the heart-sinking disappointment
That the humble earth-dwellers
Had not appreciated
My generous mansion.

How fragile dreams are.
For two seconds of joy,
There was half an hour of pure chaos.

Oh, isn’t that just how some things go?

The expectation is better.

(a.g.)

Note: Due to formatting issues, I'm unable to provide the correct version of this poem. It was created using text messages, then striking information in the manner of redacted documents. However, that option is not able to be shown on this site. In order to get around this, I'm providing the non-redacted messages for reference. This is not so much a poem, as it is an experimentation with the dissection of language. As a result, part 2 (and That's Worth The Way We Are) has had the post-redaction words removed and placed in a more traditional structure. For the real version, feel free to reach out to me.  - Rollie

“If you ever make your way to Chicago I would love to be your tour guide.”
“I’m sure a tour or something will land there soon enough, so maybe we can go. Also, I stopped at Bell Rd. Dutch and it gave me flashbacks to first driving way out here to hang out with you. So thanks for still knowing me.”
“Thank you for still knowing me. It still shocks me that you’ve managed to stick around with me being how I am.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot.”
“About what?”
“Why you care about me. But you don’t have to go into it.”
“That’s actually something I don’t ever mind talking about. I suppose if you want me to be succinct, then it’s because deep down I don’t think I ever had a choice in the matter.”

“I was worried this one for sure was the time you had decided you hated me. I suppose it still could be ha.”
“I don’t hate you. I’m just stupid and need to stop getting into depressive episodes and stop talking to everyone I know.”
“What caused the depressive episodes? If it’s ok that I ask that is.”
“Living where I do and having things I cared for in this dismal place go to ****. I hate where I’m at now, but at least have my dogs and Fajita.”

“I dreamt about this last night, so I figured I should do it in real life too. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for whatever I did that made you leave again most recently. I hope you stay back this time, and if I’m ******* up please tell me so I can remedy it.”
“It’s nothing you did. It’s 100% me.”

“Want to know what I think about when I’m stressed at work?”
“What’s that?”
“When I came back to Arizona, and you knocked on the door. I was so nervous to open it. But then when I did, you were there. And you just hugged me. And I felt safe.”

“Want to know something?”
“Yes I do.”

“Seeing your name pop up on my social media and text alerts. It really makes me smile.”

“I really have missed you.”
“I didn’t think you’d come back to my life this time. You have no idea how scared I was.”
“I’m sorry I put you through that dear. You are always good to me. I’m the one who is bad.”
“I don’t like it when you call yourself bad or say mean things toward yourself.”
“Well in this case it’s true.”
“Well you were worth the wait. I really hope we can see each other in person at some point soon.”
“I’m hoping March. I like spending my birthday with you.”

“I have a question.”
“What’s that?"
“What made you come back to my life?”

“I never wanted to leave, I just felt I should.”
“Why though? Like what made it happen? It’s got to be more than just the logistics of distance.

“It’s all on me and the way my brain works. I don’t know what happened. I just know I went to a dark place. I haven’t been actually happy here in a long time.”
“Well then I’ll make sure you’ve always got a happy place to return to here.”

“I’d have liked to talk about some things in person instead, but on the off chance I don’t wake up some day, I just wanted to say that I really do miss you and I love you as well. Sorry for everything.”
“I love you and miss you too. I always will.”
“I hope so.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I ruined everything.”
“You didn’t ruin a thing. You exist and I somehow met you. That alone is a miracle I’ll be forever thankful for.”

“I’m really really thankful that when things were at their worst, it never went too far and I didn’t have to bury you. I couldn’t have done it. So thank you for being so strong.”


“You don’t need to thank me for that. I need to thank you for being there for me and helping me through it so I didn’t get to that point.”
“Do me a favor and please outlive me.”
“I can’t promise you that.”
“Then promise to never forget me.”
“I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.”

“I always tell my friends how much I want to go back to Arizona because it feels like Home and it’s where I’m happiest.”

“Can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“What happened? Like with everything? I’m ready to hear it and think it would help me sleep.”
“I got in my own head and started feeling extremely depressed so I isolated myself and when I started getting attention locally, I went with it because I was weak and stupid. I was ****** to you and you didn’t deserve it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Or at least talk about it? We could have talked through things.”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how hard it is to watch from afar?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Did you forget me? Why did you come back?“
"I didn’t forget you. Not once. I was selfish and gave in to the easier option.”
“Then that means you had to have done everything you did while still thinking about me. That’s dark to look at.”
“I was thinking about myself because I’m selfish and awful.”
“Do you understand why it’s hard for me to believe you loved me?”
“I do understand why you feel that way. I’m so sorry. But I did love you. I still do. It was problems with myself. Nothing you did.”
“What problems were those?”
“I’m dodgy and afraid of commitment and make problems for myself. Like things are going amazingly well, so some part of my brain is like
“Hey **** this up.”.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’re afraid of it though.”
“I think I’m not, but when it gets too real I run. I honestly don’t know why I’m like this and I know me saying that doesn’t give you answers and I’m so sorry. I think I’m just a weak human. I’m not strong like you. If you need me to stay away just tell me.”
“No. That’s not what I wanted. Even in my darkest hell, I never stopped loving you.”
“I don’t care how bad it seems. I never stopped loving you either.”

“I wish I could make food for you.”
“I’d cook for you too babe. I make a mean fajita. I miss you a lot.”
"ARE YOU SAYING YOU’RE GOING TO COOK MY CAT?!”
“I would never do such a thing! That’s out of context!”
“Haha, But really I’d love to cook for you or have you cook for me. I miss you too. So much.”
“Come home.”
“I will. I promise babe.”

the serial monogamist
constantly looking for your next hit
whether it be meeting a new face, a rollie
an argument
instant gratification is your currency
and You worry that you're a fraud
I don't know if i'm the only one who knows

Have you heard the little bird wistle your daddy problems are sickening and you couldn't handle how I made you rarely rock my rollie. That's a funky **** pipe that ***** not cool duude, that's **** doodoo. Dozing off.

she breathed in tar
and exhaled something marred

inhaling nicotine and exhaling carbon monoxide
looks like she's gonna suicide


- 2 -

she attacc  (herself)
she protecc (her cigarettes)
most of all she defecc (tobacco lobbyists/industry)

and she also a defecc (anxiety disorder)

-3-

looks like denise isn't a very nice niece after all
her aunt said "tar reminds me of fond memories"
denise thought she meant the "la brea tar pits"
now she knows..... it's the Philip Morris/British American Tobacco pits in the alveoli

ravioli ravioli give me the rollie.