Dreams

I can barely move. It's five in the morning. I gotta get up. Gotta get up.
I almost literaly crawl to the mirror. Split lip. Black eye. Bruised ribs. A couple of drops of blood are still crusted onto the skin underneath my nose. Still, underneath all the time on my face I can almost see that chubby little kid in the back of the classroom hiding a pad under his notebooks, writing another verse.
It's freezing. I look around for a sweater, a hoody, a shirt. I settle for the blanket on the couch and wrap myself inside it. I take a last look at the mirror.... Jesus Christ... I fucked up somewhere along the road.
It started out all right, I was a kid, I had my dreams, I did dumb things, I grew up and suddenly I had to clean up my own messes but still it worked out. Somehow, it was all good, I had somewhere to come back every night, I had someone to hold in my arms and kiss and love every night. I sold my first bag of weed at age fourteen. Extra cash I said. Good extra cash if truth be told. I was gonna be a ball player, a DJ, a rapper. Fuck...almost seven years later and now I'm a pharmacy on feet to make rent and grub. And I'm not the only one. Q.E.D. I can barely move this morning. Good and bad at the same time. I didn't lose nothing. Bad...I didn't have shit to start with.
Sitting on the couch, wrapped in the blanket, I just want to stop time now. It ain't a great situation but the morning is quiet, the best part of each day. How I'm sitting, I'm almost comfortable, almost not hurting. So exhausted I'm almost at peace just doing nothing. My mind floats into a place that I'm comfortable, into a place that makes sense, somewhere nice, a place that doesn't care about where you're from, what you look like, who you hang out with, a place where all of it is erased. A place where the light shines bright, a place you can pay respects, a place you can speak your mind. A place where after all the bullshit getting there, you're finaly free. A stage.

And now I'm in the limelight
'Cause I rhyme tight
I've got no fright
Not anymore
I'm no longer a whore
For another druglord
I can do my thing
No I never won a champion's ring
No I never stepped with Tyson in the ring
No I never liked the bling-bling
Man I just love to sing
Speak my mind
In my words wisdom you find
Street smarts from something way behind
Now I'm someone else
My history melts
The pain and joy I've felt
Easy money
Easy honeys
Now I'm another man
Now I got a plan
Change the game
Fuck the fame
I came up here
Without no fear
'Cause I felt a lack
In the stylistic attack of rap


One day, man... One day I'll get out the game and do something I can be proud of.



TWO YEARS LATER


Another cold morning, another day for the pharmacist, another opportunity for someone to end it all. But no longer do the features of a hidden child wink at me from the mirror. It's all gone. It doesn't even matter anymore. What's the point? After all, dealer, user, rich, poor, famous, unknown. When it's all said and done.... Well... It's done. Dead.
I no longer dream of getting out. Now I save up...

I want a new couch damnit, this one's driving me crazy. I can barely sleep on it anymore. Shit, that may just be guilt keeping me awake. Anyway, my soul's with my dreams. Fucked.