GANGSTERS

[PatriotWarrior]

Your gangstar:
Froth with clues,
Full of shoot,
Rule of gloom and
Glue with rude;
Intrusion, oiling your
Guns with our live cream,
Stocking and getting stocked.

My gangsta:
Full of bilk
Littered in streets,
Glooming in nude,
Begotten of strange
Bed-fellows, yawning
Out of bed, filled
With bad dreams
And still theorizing;
Trapped in a house of cards
With strange fellows,
The oft’ dying youth.

Two-some host of jim-jams
Without a balance measure,
Twisting in anger,
Pre-occupied with instability
As some say: ‘go, no stop but go!’
- Swinging and switching places -,
Experiencing short-lived pulls;
These gangs, now changing places!

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-- This poem was written by "Sunny", a friend of mine --