My perfect soul.

She the perfect match;

Im not heightening a white flag.

To blow in the breeze of our past, waring love.

invisible bombs dropping in our heads as thoughts,

Tankful actions to betray me…

May the land minds of our words,

Self destruct, may the tank lose course,

May the spiralling bombs around us, to cease.

The end of our war, belongs to future loves.

May they be more understanding, less prideful.

May the war cease, the flag to hover whilst blue jay’s pass nearby;

May the sun set whilst you’re smiling in-front of him.

May your smile stay bold and flawless,

You deserve to be content, i do know.

I love you…

To lose your massive pride,

Would mean to me, that I’m worth it too, am i?

@vincecarre My writing instagram

Advertisements

Drugs.

The pipe warm’s; dream’s half dreamt, take ahold – What they’re shooting for became what they’ve cried about – a sea of empty dreams flow from out the eyes. In the pursuit of money, to fill their habit, but the habit had taken hostage of the mind. Their empty chest, containing their blackened heart pumps, but for how long?  For the white – they’ll lose sight – a snowy winter day, chasing eurphoria. They’ve chased a dream; their “dreams”, firing from a handgun, strikes their throat, and within the hand, holds a rocky ounce. Once proud wolves, taken by the pipe of regret – their heart was a rock, attached to their mind – Redirecting the strings, to play out, an unfulfilled life and an early grave. Their negative memories play within their parents mind’s.

Sadness in the tunnel of the forgotten

Searching for meaning in the darkness. Everywhere i look, feels hopeless; I continue to search but there isn’t a light to be found, drips land from the eyes, but nobody hears the splash – lacking concern. Can i be found? Will they appear. Or is this an endless tunnel of once was. Old experiences, become fond memories. In doubt and continuing, my legs feel heavy, what i was once dreamt is of no-more – togetherness. Searching the piped-land. I’ve considered the white rock, if anything, it will bring me closer to God. Is that what i want? in this tunnel of once was?

Drug Dealers Have an Expiry Date Too

Crack floods the streets spreading out like a web, white, expensive and addictive. Affecting those in it’s area, prayed upon by the spider – vicious and heartless. Music vibrates and enjoyed by the arachnid… he becomes more vicious, more demanding, he lifts the table in a tantrum, scaring those around, showing the concrete jungle that he’s the man to fear – The vibrations heighten the ego it progresses dangerously high, dangerously fast. furthering the destruction within their community. Building crumble as they’re built. Lives end as they begin to walk. And yet we hope things will become better, but they were better, time passed and we overlooked it.

The crack pipe becomes hot; the crack depleted – The piles of money grow to “beautiful heights”, car’s get more expensive and have more functions that aren’t used, never admired – They’re forgetting what they’ve learned, before their innocence was quickly taken away… subjected to a street life, that’s taken away their uniqueness, free-will. Another sold soul. Another soul bought by the devil himself. In an art form that was suppose to uplift the community within rather than become mainstream and lead them astray.

They’re in a robotic-state, operating on a mere level, operating by incentive, chasing a bill that will never arrive, never hold for a long duration, everything in a “trap life” has an expiry date. Including lives.

their soul’s become devil-bound, their eyes become deepened, bloodshot, their grip tightens, as they’re wielding their firearm – Rapper’s fighting to be heard, drug dealer’s fighting to be seem. The crack man, want’s death, his next fix – but never repairs anything – he want’s to fade away… death’s becoming vast, across Canada, crack strengthens, mixed with fentanyl… the bodies begin to stack, they begin to heighten; bodies shake, their heart seizes, their heart stops pumping as it did… but still the drug dealer heighten his “flow”, because that’s all he’s grown to know. He values money because it will fulfill’s him, while his soul saddens, walks amongst the Earth with a hallow frown. Looking, searching for more… but never getting the more it wants, it needs.

Fentanyl. Crack. Bodies Stack

Crack floods the streets, spreading out like a web, affecting those in it, prayed upon by the spider, black, and cold – pockets become large. music vibrates and enjoyed by the arachnid… Heightening the ego, furthering the destruction, the crack pipe becomes hot; the crack depleted – The piles of money grow, their families prosper, their soul’s become devilish, their eyes grow deep, their eyes bloodshot, their grip tightens – Rapper’s fighting to be seen, drug dealer’s fighting to be seen, the crack man, want’s death, his next fix – but never repairs anything – he want’s to fade away… death’s becoming vast, across Canada, crack strengthens, mixed with fentanyl… the bodies begin to stack, they begin to heighten; bodies shake, their heart seizes, their heart stops pumping as it did… but still the drug dealer heighten his “flow”.