A real life account of life in the ghetto... There is no escaping the ghetto, you may choose to call it by another name, but the ghetto is the ghetto...
~Hard as Nails~
I was born with a bomb in the palm of my hands the detonator was life
ran before I crawled, crawled before I walked and never took baby steps
grew up amongst alcoholics, hoodlums, crack heads and heroin feins, who tried to make me believe this was the norm of things
I was taught the art of survival through blood stained tears, back room alley's and court room cheers, by the time I hit puberty, I had a masters degree in wasteland technology
childhood friends became ghetto kings, unwed parents and welfare queens, adorned with ornaments from a street soldiers war, compilations oa a world left shattered and torn
no unsung memories or songs of jubilee, just hard core life formed our reality, we lived on the realm between heaven and hell, fought worser demons than a man in a cell
our very existence was rooted in pain, our souls branded, shackled and stained, holding our own in the belly of madness was not always an easy trick, but to stay alive we had to master this technique
we rose up early and went to bed late though death somehow would seal our fate, held onto a life that had already marked our graves amongst the living, yet we were still mentally enslaved
we bargained with time though time claimed many, in senseless wars with no remorse or pity, stumbling against the rock of life we had to reinvent a new chronology, to evolve beyond this wasteland technology
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