#jazzwrites

Peace, Hip Hop & Purple Rain

Knock knock Burst doors Shattered windows Shards settled in cool cups of Henny Hands trash bag tied behind backs Flushed dope Project x of prisons Niggas are party favors Girls caught panties down Gangstas make out with pavements Y'all ain't neva been No smiles Just panic Jostled pans And pyrex into empty cabinets Red and blue strobe lights Sirens coincide with bass lines The bass lines are swept off the table Blunts tumble between couches Burning holes The trap is fogged up Traffic clogged streets The jakes blocked off Everything This party VIP Yellow tape Gangsta party Only real niggas get invited Real niggas get indicted All black and blue dress code Frail fiends fall into the back Of Cop cars Too faded to realized where they're going A pocket sized cell Some lean into each other Slob peeks from the side of their mouth Mumbling about cigarettes And innocence Conversations of the freedomless Paddy wagon dance floors Everyone waiting to do the bail man shuffle I seen it I watched the whole thing Lady dragged out ha house She screams A slipper left in the gutta All the project doors don't got frames No more Just big holes with jagged edges Caught them niggas slippin And threw 'em a party Only real niggas get invited Cause only real niggas get indicted

We don't have a blonde haired Blue eyed love. They're coming for us. We're tucked away in surrealism's attic Like dust encrusted pictures And broken record players. They're coming To kick down the doors Of a dream love And wake us up With muddy boots And bloody stains of unacceptance The Stars stitched to our shoulders Glitter the sky like the bat symbol. They are a clan of sliced mouth jokers I can smell the smoke From their clown cars downstairs It gives off the odor of rotting hearts And sour kisses. They were like us once: Colorful and full hearted. They're broken now. The broken down Want us to be broken too They are coming So lace up your shoes And tighten your gloves. This attic was never big enough For the love of us. We must leave Before we seep through the walls And bleed onto the cobble stone. They are coming for us, Let us meet them halfway.

Pour up, Drank Head Shot, Drank Sit Down, Drank Stand up, Drank Pass Out Drank Wake up Drank Faded Drank Faded Drank Like the ombré if you hair Faded Dehydrated Kings, flip cup, pong, six shot You played it Jungle juice drips down your neck And stains your collar Sticky Like the situations you get stuck in Stayed out all night in a bathtub At a stranger's house Woke up hungover the next morning And stumbled out Pour up drank The clear bottles Shaped like yor glass body That shatters every weekend Leaving behind pieces On beer covered dance floors There are cracks in your veins And your friends have shards In their feet and palms From hauling you downstairs It's painful to watch Drank Head shots Poured Peer pressured down your throat Gargantuan cups Drank Until your liver weeps And your stomach bursts From crooked screwdrivers Wringing the vodka from your pillows Socks Shots Shots Kiss your dry lips Your pores are drunk Stumbling on your skin Colliding into each other Starting fights Called breakouts You're as pale as styrofoam cups You wreak is spilled goldschlager And cat fights Just like last night Next night Every night Wasted Drank Faded Drank Until you fall into the carpet Seeing stars A mirror image But you're descending You've morphed to comets Sit down drank Stand up vomit Seize Crawl To the nearest room Lay down cry Pass out on your side Faded drank Faded died .

Mini skirts And cheeks To celebrate the end of the week The mascara runs Like the holes in your stockings Tight eyes and loose thighs Weave stories Out of empty Trojan packages And strange faces Dutch guts on the carpet Beer bottles in the bathroom A nameless in the tub Every weekend Beauty spent in dank corners Vibrations from computers speakers Shaking your conscious Another girl passed out in lot 3

The sun is dragging her fingers across my skin. My body is adhesive. It sticks to the heavy air Around me. The sweat Under my left breast Is crawling to my navel. My damp clothes Are catching piggy back rides On skin C l i n g i n g tightly To the small of my back And anywhere else They can grip Like The black of my thighs And right around my neck. Films of salt are forming Under my nose and chin I'm sure the sun Is rolling down the aisles of clouds Laughing at my misery But at the flowers are growing.