The Last Day I Held a Nine

Poem

Photo By Canva Pro

A firm grip is how I hold the Nine.

God saved that punk, ready to do my time.

Gonna wipe out his seeds, an entire generation.

Dissed my Boo, we chillin on Spring Vacation.

No way homeboy comprehends, my pain runs so deep.

My tears his family feels, can’t help but weep.

Once I start squeezing the steel of the trigga.

Satan smiles, can’t stop me, killing even real nigga’s.

Never feared a man once, he’s just a vessel breathing.

My shell will not reveal what’s underneath, a hedonistic demon seething.

I only fear my own reflection: heartless, soulless one of a kind.

God saved me from myself, The Last Day I Held a Nine.