What’s lower? My paycheck, my self-esteem or my optimism? Looking at my boss like “I’ll forgive him,” for he doesn’t know, just how low I feel with growth. Under oath I quote Langston Hughes and contemplation of 40 acres and mule is cool, but I’m no fool. Dreams deferred, it’s not preferred to receive $200 a week and be weak-minded and I’m reminded that i’ve been referred to as having potential that’s potent beyond residuals. The area that I reside in, it’s not get rich or die tryin, but knowing how high-end I am, when it comes to how high I want to end my life, we get through plight and fly in ambitious waters. I want more for my daughter. I need to get my life in order. My girl asks me am I alright, I reply “sorta — kind of.” What kind of man am I? Mankind must not want me to survive. Revitalize my mind with just one hit of a blunt, I’m stuck, what the fuck do I do next? Paycheck-to-paycheck living won’t be enough for my children. So I ingest the sour diesel. The power of a sequel — tomorrow still may come.

Take this dopamine, nope, fuck it and flush it. I’m not as low as I think and Bas said I’m never as low as I think.