Upper Atmosphere

This is the story about a little boy whose father wasn’t there
Whose mother was drunk, strung out, and not even there
He wanted to run away, but the life market was a bear
Wanted to join a gang, but his home training was too rare
When he was a child, he smiled, not easily riled
Couldn’t see behind the veil, that his dad was tippin out
Didn’t hear the shout. Didn’t feel the pain.
Didn’t experience mama’s agony when she found out his game
All he got was checkmate. All he felt – last rate.
Right before his eyes his rosy mom began to decay
Wilt before his face, despite his will for her to stay
His uncle came and raped, now he battles being gay
Internally he’s journaling, call it diary-uh
So twisted, and vomiting, like he was out at sea
Unmentionable he, in need, of liberty
But everybody just stares, like he’s a pic in a gallery

~The Wordsmith


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