I hate the sounds that surround my head
My formations of mental objection and fear
Build up like mounds of coffee grounds
I drink to stay awake throughout the years.
But this city, it gets me, the good and the bad
I talk to it, and the sidewalks of chalk drawings
Are trails of problems I follow in my neighborhood
As signs mock me to do something about my calling.
Oh my feet, how they crack and ache
Realities hit me, a smack on the face
My cheeks flushed, a blood pumping heartache
Heel to toe about-face, I hate this place.
I'm losing air in a sea of too many lungs
Trapped, like innocent in the brig
My words escape through cut tongue
I am a branch in a pile of twigs.