Hot as heck or south Texas,
I’m not sure which.
Indie hip hop blastin’ in my
ear holes. Aesop spittin’ bout
prescription drugs most of them
I’ve taken. How long’s it
take a depressed kid to find
the underground? 10 years.
That’s not an opinion. It’s a fact.
Now gimmie that.
Where’d the beat go?
Wait … Now it’s back.
Now it’s here and now it’s
wack. Track must have
skipped. Just a blip on the
radar wishin’ on a
gray star. That spacebar in
between seems way far,
as I crash into a parked car.
Dust myself off and smile a
smile that’s full of broken glass.
Driver says “Imma kick yo
Ass.” Oh well, here we go again.
Damn man, I forgot my pen.
Who’s a writer without a why,
what and when?
Tyler Strittmatter 