Al Stone and the 22 Caliber Meltdown

long after a full moon had thrown its arms around the sky I stood with Al Stone ignoring the futility in our lives adolescence gave way to manhood or so we like to believe our ideology stifled from a serious lack of dreams with the care of a midwife removing a child from the womb a marijuana cigarette was born then quickly consumed our reality now disfigured discolored and frayed the sound of a revolver pop-pop-pop felt like a siren calling our names along the asphalt we strode where graffiti had not taken over the corner of lesson and life pondering the tips of our noses underneath that streetlight the story we all must tell misplaced direction led to a portal of hell our lack of caution our upbringing tossed aside opened the door for the siren that revolver in our eyes angels decided to sing that melody an alarming sound wheels of society turned and screeched leaving tire tracks on the ground the order was given to freeze alternatives held tight in their hands one placed directly at my temple a transition from boy to man