est. December 19, 2007
Eighteen Years of Age
"Brew and bad luck lock their fingers in my territory only to bend backwards, crack, and deal."
Estoy tan casado, I can feel the fuckinā bricks inbound āround my head and thereās nobody that got shit to say or offer that can give me peace. Havenāt slept in days. Babyās not supposed to leave my sight but she disappears and I donāt got the energy to chase her anymore. Boils my blood when she comes home smelling like daisies, but itās better than her slipping locks at the back gate of the estate that blisters a name I hate most. Iād fight it, but sheās safe. Even when sheās with that train wreck of a blanca. Por la ama. And so does god damn Daisy.
My best friend aināt been my amigo but he pretended and we bruised our bones in sync like this for the entirety of our lives. What a show. But now heās got all that I donāt and heās actinā so fucking strange, he aināt looking familiar. Shit, after we mixed and my father was officially a closed case nothing came out. Would have expected an answer from my brother from another mother, but he kept a tight jaw. Some friend.
La familia.
The puzzle pieces are somewhere we arenāt thinking of to look, just like Pops, but I gottaā keep it together for better or for worse ācause Iām the only one the can. And I feel empty with the flackery of my impairments, nobody to scrape the streets with and tape some feet of adhesive tight to procure the dirty riches that made our small city a kingdom.
Heās probably lit up. If I know anything about old Gun itās that he pits himself against himself rather than anybody else ācause even in the best of times, heās his own worst enemy. Wonder if heās thinking like I am. How he lost more than blood and canāt figure out which one hurts more. Jodidamente loco, brother, Iām thrown and youāre throwed and we aināt got nothing to discuss with each other.
We aināt gonnaā return to the sidewalks or reefs or stash houses together. Just gonnaā divide and break. Like what you done to us.
Iām sittinā with the curiosity of which gauge is more emphatic of my rage and if the ricochet will sound any differently than fatality. āCause what I need it to say is te odio mĆ”s de lo que te amo, and that the only fuckinā way I can forgive you is through the crucification of only the retribution I see fit.
Table it. Iāll sleep. We got time, and I need a lot of it to lead my family home.