The Lust of Drug Wars
The Selfish Egos of War Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish
It's a normal day in LA's Westside.
Shots fired. Another homicide.
Police, EMTs, and coroners predisposed
to the front lines of the disposed.
A shower of bullets, another blood bath,
yellow-taped, chalked outlines mar the public's path.
It's a war out there, the games are in overtime,
and sudden death is just a passing crime.
Drug Lords crawling out from the gutter
in search of their bread and butter,
driving a low-riding Mercedes,
carrying 14-year-olds dressed up as ladies,
peddling their crack,
and shooting turf invaders in their back.
Homies' power trip lights the dark side of the city,
without any regard for life or showing any pity.
The crib's manifestation, filled with a rat's infestation,
where egos fly to the nests of damnation.
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