Dying-in-your-Arms
By # Dripping pen
# Cyra the poet.
the streets I am
imaginary housing am building
getting high from my friend
creating images he does most
fountain steps
his ambitions
eloquent flow
words aligned in order,
daily am here
betraying my mind
a motel I own
clogging my body
the beauty of a bottle
stimulant scent of liquor
all to keep me fit
out of many thoughts
family affairs
fathers responsibility
just to Carter my frozen pudding
street light
got my bright
my rooms are dark reality
but bright every time
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