Oh, you’re friends with so & so & I so don’t care. The next time you pick someone to project your ebony soul onto, select someone that’s whiter than ivory so the bruises you inflict shine upon the masses & deal fantastic damage to their avarice.
I can’t explain to you the way in which one would multiply logically, but I wouldn’t be one to step on my own property without Teflon & the whole olive tree.
I’ve acquired various branches of friendship through longevity & I’m not one to apply rooting hormone undauntedly: So I don’t pay no mind when they never grow causally.
It’s most likely the entire town would grow lungs just to laugh at me, but I’m still here, trying to mold a pack of rabid wolves into something I could use when a cat snap at me.
If fur is murder, it has certainly grown attached to me. I’m just hoping it’s through osmosis so that I can say your death occurred naturally.
Matthew Thompson is an American-born writer & author, raised in California. He grew up walking the streets & garnered a deep respect for graffiti art. All he did was read in his early life, up to eighteen when he became embroiled in the world of Sex, drugs & rock & roll. His style comes from a mix of various rap artists & ancient philosophy.
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