AyeVarViVa

Nobody says you have to be gangstas, hoes. Read more learn more, change the globe. Ghetto children, do your thang.

A Poem Formed by Labor

Turn, grasp, toss
Turn, grasp, toss
Turn, grasp, toss
Turn, grasp, toss
Turn, grasp, toss
Turn, grasp, toss

2 hours pass and your lips are still fresh
6 more until I crash and I can still feel your flesh

Reach, whack, stack
Reach, whack, stack
Reach, whack, stack
Reach, whack, stack
Reach, whack, stack
Reach, whack, stack

9.25/hr for this is a joke, many bloody fingers
3 more hours and your scent still lingers

Lift, place, scan
Lift, place, scan
Lift, place, scan
Lift, place, scan
Lift, place, scan
Lift, place, scan

$100 is the magic number
1 hour left until slumber
1 numb mind left to wonder

40 hours of sacrifice for you
177 miles until the bus brings me through
1 man corroding all for you

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Information

This entry was posted on September 4, 2013 by .
%d bloggers like this: