Jean Jacket
NOPE
Being outside a sound-proof room. You somehow think of things in the future as if they are the past. You see the present like a thick hot summer's night filled with cricket noise... while you stand inside with the cool conditioned air down your fresh new shirt, while you pass sweet flirtations to your summer crush through the screen door. Like a moth to flame, you and money burn like the catalyst to lustful desire of Benz seats and impromptu head on Colorado ski lifts...
It runs Hot and Cold. From Calm vegetation to Hostile sharp white cliffs of snow. It's so hard to keep your world from spinning too many seasons past the marker and living too fast and dying younger than prescribed.
Koolaid pumps through the veins sometimes, like overdue beef it spoils and rots if left too long to linger. The flush only happens with each chess move. The nikkas that I knew when I was running off the front porch for the drama, with welts and swollen cheek bones. The laughs and sweaty daps, turned to truces... But money makes men into dogs.
Money never makes the man. The man has to make it.
Peace.
It runs Hot and Cold. From Calm vegetation to Hostile sharp white cliffs of snow. It's so hard to keep your world from spinning too many seasons past the marker and living too fast and dying younger than prescribed.
Koolaid pumps through the veins sometimes, like overdue beef it spoils and rots if left too long to linger. The flush only happens with each chess move. The nikkas that I knew when I was running off the front porch for the drama, with welts and swollen cheek bones. The laughs and sweaty daps, turned to truces... But money makes men into dogs.
Money never makes the man. The man has to make it.
Peace.
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