Self Titled

I walk around like I still have a bullet encased in my chest

As I looked around I began to notice I’m nothing like the rest

The conversation has started and so has my test as the man of an hour

Used verbs loosely like a slip knot but now my rhymes are stone sour

Looking for more respect, more money and more power
It’s nice to meet you too but…

I wasn’t a born sinner and neither were you

I grew up watching blues clues in private schools oblivious to the rules of the hard knock life

Somebody once told me they’d eat me up, but now I’ve got a pot belly to display my strife learning in a white paradise
But I’m on my way to having a trophy wife, smoking a pipe dumping ashes on your plight, to display my delight

I may not go to hell but the devil is going to set me on fire, but I bet I can match his flames and I already trumped his desire

Pills made me do stupid things, in search of flings playing a misguided youth  

Times we didn’t have electricity and my landlord didn’t throw us out

It’s a blessing that we are still under this roof

And it’s a blessing to be part of this conglomerate, you guys are hot like the bombs I spit and the adjectives I shout 
Now I speak my clout and the devil has me here to be sincere when my disses go through your ears 
My fears don’t coincide with your lies, hopes and fears

I used to wipe away my tears with a switchblade, now I’m getting paid channeling prophecies of a rendezvous to Dade 
Underplayed in the game, underlaid but that will change with a little fame 
Shall I stay sane, hardly

As I stumble down the stairs and my veins take speedballs worse then Chris Farley

No i spit speedballs with a side of Parsley 
Burning Ferraris high as fuck on life, stay away from drugs but I don’t rule out the hashish pipe

I go star slight in a park fight and now I’m bed shaped getting my nose shaped
To flex my muscles in front of this crowd with my mouth taped

To prove a point without saying a damn thing

Anthony Day Grandin, that has a decent ring

 

 

 

 Imageoem, 

Moses

    It was a cold night in New Haven but for Moses it wasn’t so bad. He had been homeless for about five years, during the day walking around Yale and searching trashcans of expensive restaurants. He would sometimes sit and play his guitar and sing. That was his main source of income, people loved to listen to him play and sing. They would drop him five dollar bills or tens, they would give him food and other random articles of clothing. He wasn’t drinking or doing any drugs, so they treated him different. Sometimes Yale students would talk to him and call him an urban legend.

            He had been since he got on the streets, he had saved numerous people from being robbed and had always been as a form of a superhero. There was a time when a woman was being raped in a dark nasty alley near the old bar that shut down on the outskirts of Downtown. Moses came to the woman’s rescue, beating the man mercilessly and then waiting until the cops came before disappearing. He didn’t want any notoriety, nobody call him a hero. That’s not what he was as he roamed the dark airy night streets of New Haven. He was a monster.

            Some nights he’d walk by the old liquor stores that he used to practically live in. He recalled those days so bitterly, him in a three piece suit laughing with the other drunk “Bastards.” Moses had the idea that there was some reason that he would exempt from being punished by the cruel world. His name was biblical and he was brought up believe and praise all those things he was told. It was a cushion in his life, one that at time threw him off guard.

            Moses would usually sit down on a seat that was left out on the orchard street “Strip” across from all the pizzerias and restaurants. Some nights he’d simply drift around thinking about the past that wouldn’t let him go. The real problem was that he didn’t understand anything about his life but he understood the world around him. It was the only place that he felt at all human. Being in a house caged in wasn’t what was meant for him. His activities and lifestyle led to what was left of his friends and family calling him an animal. Maybe that’s what he was? A true human being, he was the animal that rejected all the corporate synthesizing that allowed overindulgence, greed and eventually their untimely demise.

            Moses had spent all that time alone, moseying around and the only thing that kept him company was his cat Jonas. Jonas lived behind his campsite, which was on State Street right in between the ramp to the highway and the thrift shop. Moses had called that home for almost all the years that he had lived on the street. He had it set up nice and the cops didn’t mess with it because they knew that he kept it clean and did well by the city.

            That night on a random note he had decided to walk up to Scrap Yard in Mill River and see if he could find any scrap metal from the dealer that would open up for the bums. It was the ultimate place for barterers, bums and bargainers who were up at two in the morning. Moses had his cart prepared and it had a small radio with some earphones hooked up in the carriage. He was listening to 70s Hard Rock and experimenting with some Pop hits while he walked past the Mobile Gas station.

            The traffic was scarce to say the least, and Moses took advantage of that walking much faster than normal. He even started to get into the music, so he brushed his long gray hair back so that the earphones he found in the garbage would fit better. He had a couple of other pairs in the pocket of his trench coat that he also found in the garbage. Moses was a man of simple pleasures, flashiness didn’t matter to him. As long as something worked it was valuable to him, he had even gone to the point of being a borderline hoarder. He didn’t mind, Moses believed in the value of true life.

            So as he walked up upon the dimly lit dead end that was known as Mill River Street. There were three large multifamily houses on each side of the road, and on the left side there was a lot for the abandoned company Max Supplies. It had been gone for years, but no one bought the building nor did anything for the lot. Across the way from Mill River Street there was a bar called Hanson’s known for its fights, underage drinking and promiscuity. Moses had heard of three dead bodies on Mill River Street in the past year but the numbers were more around eight.

            “Look there is Clark Kent, my man!” howled one of the men standing outside the vacant lot. He was staggering with a bottle in his hand, he seemed to be drunk. Moses received the name Clark Kent when a group caught him reading a superman comic book. It was something he had only done a few times, as he had never been a fan of comics, animation or anything of the sort. He accepted the Clark Kent nickname because he didn’t want anyone to know his real name, Moses Floyd. It was a name that was known through New Haven and even Connecticut, a name known of evil and a wretched existence. It was something he didn’t want to live with, so instead he was simply Moses or on some occasions Clark Kent.

            “Did I miss anything?” asked Moses as the man shook his head and took a swig from the bottle.

            “Nah you didn’t miss a damn thing, half the folks ain’t even down here yet. Come and get a bottle, oh that’s right you don’t drink ain’t that right boy!” yelled the same man whom Moses finally identified as Static. Static always forgot that Moses didn’t drink, and Static was one of the few people who knew who Moses was. He didn’t say anything out of respect. Despite his drunken state, he always remembered to never talk about Moses’s past.

            “Now you know I don’t drink,” muttered Moses laughing for the first time all day as he pushed his cart over and shook Static’s hand. “When are these people getting here?”

            “I have no clue but they run the show, we are just two bums waiting for the curtains to come up. How has your day been otherwise there? Gone to any telephone booths?” asked Static cracking up into laughter. Moses looked at his eyes which were bloodshot as he barely had a grip on the bottle he held.

            “Stop being so loud, someone will call the police on us,” said Moses whisking his friend over to the entrance of the warehouse which was open. “Why are you out here, it’s so cold!”

            “Typical guy, it ain’t cold when you got this much liquor in your gut. Man I could basically die right here and now, but nobody would care. My family is sleep at home, finally getting a good night sleep because I’m out here half dead. They wonder why you would have to go out there?” said the Static with his eyes and tears running down his cheek.

            “Ok static let it out,” said Moses patting Static’s shoulder. There was a time when he wasn’t as level headed and was seeking guidance and couldn’t find it at the hall of an Alcohol Anonymous meeting. When he was wandering the dark wet streets with a bottle, belligerent and angry, there was no hand to be placed on someone’s shoulder. It didn’t make him feel any better about himself, but part of Moses believed if he kept doing the good deeds his demise would be less painful.

            “I said them last night crying, on one knee, I said listen I love you both babies. But I have to go out and make money for the kid, I can’t just lie down next to your fat ass all fucking day and watch Steve Wilkos!” screamed Static. Moses grabbed Static’s arm and brought him into the warehouse. Sometimes the cops would be called and then nobody would make any money. Moses knew he had to pick up some metal and he had just enough money to fit into his cart.

            So he walked into the warehouse next to static and was greeted with an arousing applause. Everyone loved Moses except for Moses, as he seemed like the guy other guys wanted to be. He didn’t have good looks, it was more of a moral thing. Few beside Static, Moses’s daughter, wife and a few family members knew of the horrid secret he was hiding. Few thought it had any validity, so Moses was forced to exile himself in punishment rather than allowing himself to live a comfortable life after wrongdoing.

            “Yo Moses, bring any bread today brother!” asked Lucky Louie, a fat Italian bum who always loved the bread that Moses would find. One day Moses and Louie were walking around Fair Haven when they gave out bread at Gianni’s, a upcoming restaurant around the way. Moses and Louie spread the word, and ever since were paid in bread and sometimes cash to clean the store. Most of the time their appearance was rugged and unappetizing, each sporting large unwelcoming beards and heavy coats for the winter chill.

            “Moses you’re probably the poorest motherfucker here, on account of the fact you don’t get disability so I’m going to give you the best piece for today,” said Carmine, the owner of the racket. Two of his guys Luca and Mickey set the scrap metal into his cart. Often Carmine didn’t charge, he let some of the merchandise go in return for certain favors that he would call upon quite often. He had a set of bums, Moses, Louie, Connolly, Samson and Maxwell. This was it wasn’t charity, and the bums were loyal and would hear about anything on the street immediately after it hit the pavement. Carmine saw it as an ample investment.

            “Horse shit!” howled Maxwell who was in the corner smoking a joint. He was laughing as he said it, Moses became worried once he heard that he’d have to fight another bum but it was different then on the internet. For the most part they all worked together, it was the drugs and the drink that brought them apart.

            “Yo Moses, I keep telling you each time you bring your ass in here to fill out that paperwork. I got this great doctor, excuse me Max but he is this nigger from Philadelphia. Ya know, where I grew up? His pops gave me work so I kind of do the same, but he became a doctor. Much smarter then I could have been,” said Carmine with his hands on his stomach.

            “You can say that again,” grumbled Moses.

            “Hey fuck you! I’m sitting her busting my ass trying to get you some extra cheese and here you are hogging the prosciutto. You rat fuck you, don’t look at me like that!” howled Carmine. He had an abrasive way to him, constantly looked angry and at risk to blow your head off. If you weren’t hardnosed, tough or just naturally insane it was hard to handle him. Luckily Moses was a mixture of all three.

            “You just mad because the brother probably stole your bitches, and the money out that motherfucker,” said Maxwell with a high laugh. Nobody else found it very amusing. Maxwell got a handshake from Samson who had shared a few hits from the joint but that was it.

            “Hey! Hey, what did I tell you?” yelled Carmine pointing at Maxwell, who grabbed a container of air freshener and sprayed it everywhere. “You can smoke that cheap shit here but you better spray every three minutes, not just when I tell you. Spray! Come on, spray the fucking can it’s new so give it some juice,” ordered Carmine with his eyes flaring up.

            “You want to me come down with you Moses, make sure nobody robs you on your way?” asked Mickey with a reassuring smile. Moses shook his head and then turned the cart around.

            “Hey! Remember I get ten percent of that cut, that’s the deal every first of the week when I call you guys in here that’s what I get. You can’t have the salami and also get the smoked prosciutto,” insisted Carmine shaking his head. Moses nodded his head and gave a somber wave goodbye as he left the warehouse with his shopping cart. He only had about two or three pounds of scrap metal but it would be enough to get him through the day. Most would be crazy to go through New Haven in the middle of the night with a couple dollars of Scrap Metal, but Moses was well known through the order. At least through the parts he was going. He only had to walk about ten minutes to get to his apartment which was a couple of blocks off the Worthington Plainview Park.

            As Moses left uneventfully he started to feel something in his stomach. He needed to go to the bathroom after only being able to in the Mobile Gas Station. As he walked along the bridge he felt lights which were burning up his insides. As he started to feel sick he reminisced on the days when he had a functioning toilet and bathroom as a kid. He missed those days and realized he would do anything to get back there, but he started to beat himself up for doing all the wrong things to travel the opposite way.

            It took Moses a couple minutes and to be only two miles from his house to realize he had heat on him. He farted and burped when the sirens flashed on, literally scaring the shit out of him. He raised his hands as he heard shouts and hollering behind him, he knew the routine as they brought him up against the car and smashed his head on the hood. As he heard all the police procedure he realized that it was just another day to Live and Die in New Haven.

Nightmares (ReRelease #1)

Tears on the hillside, please don’t take me this way

I want to stay and become somebody, I want to prove you all wrong

And I can see the city at night from my bedroom window

Gashes from lashing on my legs

But I don’t want your tears

I just want you to know

That if meteors came falling from the sky, I’d still be there to love you

When the music stopped I’d be there to sing

I want you to listen to me

I just want you know, that I’m bigger then this

 

I hurt your child and you look down at me

But I feel like I’ve been away while you got to sit and stay

Don’t look at me, please don’t look at me that way

I’m scared of the pain and the long hard days

These black eyes and the nights when I didn’t know if I’d stay alive

My mother sleep, apologies on his bloodied fists

I don’t want your tears and I don’t need your love

I just want you to know

That when night dawned on my side I needed someone to care

I needed something to be there

Don’t you dare look at me that way

Don’t talk about me that way, don’t you dare

Because I’ve gone through the fucking shit, while you got to float away

I needed a home, while you needed your day

 

And I’ve fought for my life every single night

I did everything to keep breathing, I had to keep my eyes open to keep seeing

And I know that I’ve been gone while you got to sit and stay

I’ve been wrong, and that’s all you say

I need someone to love me, and need to make sense of these nightmares

This is a righteous plea, because fear has a hold on me

I’ve apologized a million times through so many rhymes, but you’ve read but one

Please don’t take me this way, I can’t take seeing the past

I don’t have time for arguments and back talk, I want something to happen

And I’ll say it one more time, I don’t need your love, I don’t need your hugs

I just want you to know
I’ve been through the night times, I’ve been through the halls

I was being hurt, but you didn’t hear my call

So don’t you dare look at me that way, don’t you dare have a word to say

This is my time, this is for me

Some nights when I’d rather flee, then have nightmares I can’t make sense of

Some nights I’d do anything to relive what I had to see

Life is Poetry

I stare into your eyes, mine cross

Known to cut a loss before I pivot with surprisingly advanced digits that leave the past riddled with poetry in the moss

The Cost?- I are intensive as we back up on the heels of walls that have been cautioned aprehensive, while i close my eyes in chaos to stay pensive

Describe your life in real time prophecy, like a bastard son of socrates, 2-1-2, stay prodigal sporting blood red shoes, spewing blood stained dues, battle scars that keep this genuine and true

Hold on I’ll tear shit up like my arm, street poetry built to self destruct not self harm, story of poverty and triumph, trauma and alarm

The blood dropped as the hip hopped and hearts stopped, jaw dropped, fist clenched, because when i arrived on the scene you can barely even clinch a spot on the bench

My thirst to quench, disarm the foul stench because i was raised with a vendetta to make the ice colder and the consequence better

Writing over your head and into your heart, Public Threat, Best Bet, Your last regret

I’ll leave you traumatized with your lips to pucker, punk ass motherfucker

They expect sweets like all day suckers

Carve words like bloody scripture, arrogant because i have the real big picture, failed math but i’m going to specialize in lots of zeroes, Held at gunpoint and didnt play hero, live life far beyond suicide to stay parrelel and I’m the fucking worst

My fathers knife to my throat and its a pain in the neck

Eiry mornings on the deck breathing bleak debts, swallowing harsh bets because im a guy you dont want to forget

Counting a million dollar deal, and i am what i feel

I am the leader, and i am what i believe

Fours months for something to be real, time for skin to peel, Dont crawl, I walk, And I back up each every word of the shit that i talk

Times become bleak, and it was pleasure without pain that i used to seek, but i found the world to be cheap with harshly paved streets, gloomy beats and times when you just have to look down at your feet

But there is more to life then they teach you at school, with a heart of gold and story that has been told, positive energy with a negative handgun, the demise of the progidal son, and the rise of the chosen one.

And as i hunt, the past impedes but i can say i am everything that i believe

City light free verse on a glimpse of doubt about inconsistency and I am still everything and more that i believe.

Life is poetry, so lets live in our persuasive thesis, words are biblical so lets write holy songs

Life is to long to stand on one wrong, so lets blossom together before we’re goneImage

Daddys Gone

Oh oh, Dad ya were my hero, opposite of the common zero

Now i See the four headed monster of doom, my perspective on life is in full zoom

Daddy, We could’ve had it all

Now you make my life fuckin impossible

I write this with tears and syllables

’cause i will be the only one, standin as the lonely son

Realizing that my perfect life is done

Daddy’s Gone, Daddy’s Gone

I wanna tear apart your memories

Blatant obscenities, my trauma took furious entities

I want you to now, that healing is so slow

I have to mend the wounds of every blow

I was that lonely boy, not sure what to say

Oblivion or a shattered day, my dad’s memories began to decay

Dad, we could have had it all

Instead my only hope that night was a hospital

I will be the only one crying in midnight park

I need a father to find me in the dark

Oh Dad, Fear is my best friend, it took your place  in my life till the end

Suicide was your message to send

I love you to much for your life to end

This life of mine isnt right, i scream and beg for reality to begin

Empowerment, means finding love withen

The Statement

We are the products of an conglomerate that fight and bicker, success is an percentage that we’re left to go figure. I did thousands of curls over the years to feel bigger, while i have disease and animosity flowing through my liver. Im dying, i want to die quicker but i cant because my future assures top shelf liquor

I found diamonds and colors to decorate these lies, nobody is listening so why should I cry. This world is bleak, ive grown tired of it but it wont let me sleep. He’s got bullets in his stomach to save and keep, while his lover whines with her small sheep. This poem is the product of a hateful boy’s sigh, a mere proclamation before the genocide, I wanted to die but god is going to make suffer through years of suicide. I swerve on and off a straight line, as the morals i once held so high, decline. They say at least you tried, as i sprinkled my carelessness with diamonds from aparthied. This the statement, do or die.

People can smoke weed and plant their seed, im intoxicated on the roadkill that they leave. Have a romantic dinner with a stipulation, or stay tipsy with low confidence on the festive nights of New Years Eve. I tried to rearrange the stars, life was sweet because i relied on candy bars, starstruck by flashy cars, aspirations to be a writer were polluted by a dream to big, that there would be a time where i could be a kid. This is a blase production, hey my name is Anthony! This is my introduction. I threw my life into a dirty hole that went on forever, grueling like a glimpse of my endeavor, arteries of actuality severed. The offspring of an eclipse, im a little bitch, uploading a picture on facebook as i shake my hips. Im not Gladys, im still the pips. This is the way it goes down, after i spit in their face there is a piano solo, followed by a clown. Ill probably be killed but you wont her a sound, because ive been praying for plagues througout the night in a black gown. The sweaty palms revealed my anxious qualms, but like any preaching zealot i read the passage like it was the Nagasaki bomb. Place my insecurities into a line from psalms, god screwed me so hard i adjusted my lip balm. But remain calm, reality is the underwear of the underling crawling beneath my wing, ive only got one more paragraph of blasphemy to sing.

I painted a thesis, co-wrote the same symphony, but this time i let my dark half take the wheel to avoid the road or a epiphany. I’d prefer a crash, then the poetic lash of a slavemasters slash. Id like to get happy memories but all i have is cash. 45 magnum pencil, im hardcore, they reposessed my life but i promise im not poor. We fled the scene I had created, the doctor gave me pills that left my mercy sedated, so we will find your god and make sure your expiration date isnt outdated, we wouldnt you to be relocated. HoneyBunny, i love you so, you will always be in my heart, transcending friend or foe. But yo, ive got no melody like All Time Low, been brought down to Deaths Valley by an Average Joe, dont tell the Board of Education, but im fastidious not slow, my ego altered by a corporations low blow. Ive guess ive got Glory to sew…

 

The Battle Cry

This is the life under thunder storms, uppers like lightning and downers like Grunge Tic-Tacs

Those banging their heads to Kurt Cobain with their feet up in an upper class cul-de-sac

We live to learn the conscious expression is whack and society carries around flack because now being fat is worse than being black

Soak in the poison and believe in lighter days and lights at the ends of dark tunnels, believe that the chants and battle cries of a generation of that make believe that a brighter day shall come, as we burn Mercedes and thousand dollar tees

Beauty is only what you perceive

We rise with swords and guns as mother earth grieves

The noise drifts away and so do autumn’s leaves; it is we who should flee the smog and the desolate black clouds

The stories read aloud to children are corporate mechanisms and your sex life is a euphemism

The young boy plots revenge with slits on his wrists while his brother is in the next bar getting pissed

We fell in love with an antonym, waiting for the horns, flutes and the rest of Gabriel’s orchestra to begin

 

They sing and sing, buildings fall to the earth, but some could say this is a good start

the beginning, the birth without a hand held camera in sight

The wraiths write and the flickering lights from human indulgence splashes onto the scene like a bat out of hell

His words are hate out of heaven, we try to escape life unscathed but we lost so much time that we can’t find seven or eleven

We lost so many memories stored in the back of a machine

Your smile is that of a backwards gleam,

We don’t believe in family, don’t believe what’s said

What the fuck you going to do when you cut yourself and they criticize how much you bled

Fall back into the universe your peripheral blood red

The protest and the songs of the dead condone the joke and what we don’t know

We pray to a god and its divinity

We’d die for what we haven’t seen, just to fall from infinity

 

In a million years?

We’ll be happily searching through thousands years of rhymes and slime, but we go on searching line about you and me, we search for the crack of lightning that lets you understand an epiphany

Misspelling your future, we have an app for that

Talk back to the battle cries of a generation, will result in a crack or a slap

The greatest consumers of all, born into the era of crack

Hypocrites rendered into a higher place

The joke is that none of them know who they are at all

Small, skinny, black, white or tall, technology killed the Trojan horse as the entire history falls

We philosophize whilst snorting the purest lines

Party in South London while listening to grime

From every fight to all mankind, tessellate in their tirade, the art is that we laughed at all and the only crime is that they never allowed us to fallImage