Another untitled poem

Shifting through my mental Rolodex I see Nat Turner
running with a blood stained machete in his clutches,
Did he and his fellow prisoners of slavery die so that we can be free
to blow our souls away in the smoke of phillies white owls and dutches...

While my brothers get high on late night trips with Mary Jane I get high on
truth and late night discussions on politics,
Because truthfully there's no difference between a politician trolling for votes
and prostitute walking the track trolling for tricks...

See the trick is to get the voter/the john to believe you care about his/her every
need fantasy and desire,
Mentally make love to their soul while grasping their hands leading them into the
flames of hells fires...

Understand that what you may call hell some call recession depression unjustifiable homicides genocides and war to bring sovereignty on peaceful nations,
The prostitute kisses us on our lips so our minds enter a fantasy trip and we're blinded to this hell we're daily facing...

At any moment while were going through our day to day imaginary safeness we can fall victim to a politicians/prostitutes malicious actions,
But in our mental blindness we go through the day like a rat in a maze racing time to fall in the clutches and traps of what we have a passion...to be cont