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Grit & Grime
Dead soilders crunch under feet
Where stained bricks and alleys meet.
Pass along the paper bag,
Spark up a jack, take a drag.
Dime bags sold from corner stores.
Addicts, dealers, pimps and whores.
Living, dying, day by day.
No time for sleep where I stay.
Daily hustle on the flow,
Torn flyers read, "Just Say No!"
Born to this, I'll never leave.
No way out that I perceive.
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction):
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words:
Dead soilders are empty drug vials.
A jack is a cigarette.
Editing stage:
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Comments
Jaq Cee
Thu, 2013-05-16 15:45
Wow!!
Wow!! Very powerful write arsin. So raw. I enjoyed this.
arsinBW
Fri, 2013-05-17 12:19
Thank you! I really enjoyed
Thank you! I really enjoyed writing this one.