It’s just
another night of me sitting around – taking words, maybe not so bold maybe pointless
but still throwing them on the wall to see who would say what about mettle and
subtlety. And then without warning she rushes up on me and dances a burning one
two cheek and I'm sent on a purple carpet to her beautiful cloud #9 . . . and this
is exactly what my chaotic ‘I’ was in desperate need of.
And across the
room a candle’s burning old but it’s much different from the familiar scent of
black love at 12610 (one, twenty-6, ten).
So I kept
writing til I was satisfied but something broke me and I went to pieces and my
blood reached a boiling point mess so that I’d be no good at communication and
right there I knew my day was done. It was time to rock & roll by myself
with Ms. Mary Jane in the fiery haze and forget about the rain and the cold
weather with the mother standing outside.
So I did what I
do and I took my other notebook out and I free-styled for a while.
The candle
eventually blew out but I still managed to smoke up some of the kind and write
my frustrations away to never forget you.
Victor Millan
