Abbot street; an old opium den. The Sun Ah hotel.
The elevator shaft once brought up. the heroin.
Now your blankets and trash are discarded in the rusted abyss.
The distinct smell of crack and meth house mixed with cigarettes, mold and bed bug spray.
Yet when times were rough indeed we still strived to achieve our dreams through tears and fears and thick and thin.
I watched over you and you watched over me. I miss you dearly J bird; rest in peace.
I’ll meet you in a ghetto in the sky and we’ll put a studio in our trap.
Vegan mango fruit juices and topical tropical psychedelic ganja.
I promise you I’m doing good down here and thinking of you my friend.
For me it’s almost like there’s no one left and I can’t wait to see you instead.
We can view the memoirs of our lives mixed and mastered plastered onto the sands of time.
Where do Angels go when they die? I hope to see you again; in the ghetto in the sky.