Every morning I wake up,
I look forward to going back to sleep.
I deal with a repeating cycle that I have no control over.
Believe it or not,
My conscience speaks back to me
For he is the only one who truly shows sympathy toward my pain.

I call my place of residence a shoebox.
Making me the new shoes that have replaced the last old pair.
But crying is not an option.
I tried that when I became the new kicks on the block
And I did me no good.

I don’t understand the fraise “time is money”.
They gave me life,
And since 2003 I have yet to see any U.S. currency.
I buy everything with these snickers and noodle cups
And sometimes with my rank.
Don’t get me wrong,
I do have NEEDS.
All my person hygiene supplies cost, I just never sees the physical cash.

I have to call and speak to my lady friend
To convince her to put money on my books. 
At first I couldn’t do it,
So I put my conscience on the phone and let him take control
As I sit back and stare at my snicker collection sitting on my magazines.
Funny thought,
That’s kind of like money on my books.

I laugh, literally aloud like life is funny.
Last time I say my family was through a glass.
I talk to my relative on the phone
Soon to be interrupted by a 5 minute warning.
My best friend is a figure of my imagination
And I have to watch my back 25/8
Because they next man wants everything that I got.

I hope my little brothers don’t follow my path.
I continue to speak the way I do, 
And rep what I rep
And act the way I do
Because it’s a form of security for me.
There’s no such thing as quitting
When you’re in those cement walls.

I just want to go home.
I’m not quitting,
Just ready to give up.

Daily, I hear the loud complaints and arguments
But I try to drowned down the sound
With my razor thin pillow.
Not able to block the sounds
I tune in.

Reflections of reflections.
That’s all I see.
Holding my mirror side ways to make a better view,
Watching the MAN
Hold my freedom in his hand
Never to let go.

Sometimes I just write.
No reason,
Just writing.
I send my brother Tyrell a letter 
Mail to Tyree’s Conscience in 1 month from today.
They I reply to that letter.
That’s how I let myself know
I still love me.

They called lights out,
Plus my hand is hurting.
I guess I can finally go to sleep now. 
Good night,
Until tomorrow morning.

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