Lost Manhood Poem by wallace eaton

Without reasoning I find myself selling my soul to the hands of these criminal restrained prison cages. Probably from my years as a fatherless youth I often develop these rages. Street life, money chasing habits can become extremely outrages. Nine millimeter glots lead to 12 gauges. Old heads use to say, I'm just going through stages. He'll slow down soon and work for some wages. How can I inhale the success of what society paints should be the path to a better way of life. Tension cut through my plans in life like a double edge knife. Had a woman once, who I thought the outcome would have been a wife. But things got tight. She gave up the fight. Like 16 hollow tips discharging into the night. Sometimes I escape my fears with chemicals that switch my moods and alters the lost mental emotions of the mind. Frustration that builds up through the revolving temptation of time. I remember when a piece of comfort was hard to find. So I resulted to a life of crime. Trying to focus ahead and leave bad habits behind. But, I need Gods sign. Cause this road I seek had one option and that was dying. Criminal activity links me to another convict who's somehow handcuffed and shackled against his will. I can see pain in his eyes, infact I know what he feels. Survival in these streets are real. That means time stand still. Casket doors are six feet and seal. From those 38 shells that peeled his brain and it spill. Price tags are put on more things then the latest clothing design. As my man found out when that kid crept up from behind. Coward dudes breed fear, so they attack you from then blind.12 blows to the head from that wooden knotty pine. My goals are like vanishing thoughts. That irregular product before it's brought. Against all odds is how I've fought. Like a midnight theif that's never been caught. But, time has crept up and made me acknowledge what path I must take. To many times under pressure I would crumble and break. Angry with myself and inflicted hate.