Along the street corners are all the
Ballers, players, pimps, and thugs, I walk sucking
Candy as my brother talks
Dreams and ambitions,
Emotions and thoughts,
Feeling and what’s on our minds.
Growing apart, but still
He protects me
I am grateful to have someone like him. A
Junkie, he shoots up, but I
Know who he is and why.
Malcolm, beautiful boy, troubled soul
No real childhood, we only had each
Other, no more, no less
Patterns we’ve grown use to
Quiet life free from the shadows that loom.
Really close over the
Seasons of death, mama
The funeral was charcoal black
Us, orphans
Very troubled
Why did it have to be her?
X-rays, Cat scans, and autopsies, ran threw my
“Young” mind. Her
Zest remained, through us.