GHETTO LIFE

I’ve been to the bowels of hell,
a life hard to recall, harder to tell.
I’ve been chewed and swallowed
into a belly unhallowed.
In its stomach I wallowed,
searching for an escape;
a chance to reshape
my life, worthless and wasted,
its end deliberately hastened.

I’ve been to hell;
after I fell
from my glorious innocence-
a victim of circumstance,
baited chances,
Trojan horses,
devil after me
his angel to be.

I’ve been to the abysses of hell,
where I lost my soul.
I’m meat and bone, no essence;
it’s not life I live
but a sentence I serve,
condemned, for sins seen,
long before I’d my own.
I suffer another’s punishment
just ‘cause I’m of similar descent.

I’ve been to the musicals of hell,
which wouldn’t fair well
in the world of the pious,
would be condemned with prayers,
‘cause they ring with insults
ultimately causing tumults.
Its residents, self-centred imps,
try to inflict emotional limps:
to see a tear fall, to break a heart,
with an abuse that’ll hurt.
After all, what do they care,
yet pain they know not to share?

I’ve been to the streets of hell,
vividly recall their smell,
which twitched nostrils,
putrid as only hell ever is.
Its sights stung the eyes,
as chests heaved with sighs,
trying to take off their load
whilst the mind contemplated,
if perhaps there was a road,
that led out of this mere existence
to a life of comfort and abundance.

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