i can feel the bronx's presence when i pass 125th street approaching 138th and grand concourse

as i'm traveling underground, all i want to do is make it home

just want the 4 train to pass 149th street so i can see the bigger light shine on me once it goes overground

i'm walking towards my old block on sheridan avenue

i stare is disbelief 

sheridan never change since my last appearance

i knew there was sufferages of people dying 

where they didn't know how to say no to drugs

crack was an epidemic that spread like AIDS back in the days

although crack is no longer a starter, but the drug dealers called on heroin as the 6th man off the bench to solidify evil poison in calling people's names

stagnation proclaim lives of people in transformation to bronx zombies

on that small strip of 167th towards yankee stadium

all you saw was chalked up writings on the wall that is misspell so that means parents are high school dropouts, whose education is more challenging than a 3rd grader

at least there are no more empty buildings, and broken cracked windows

apartment stoops filled with lost souls already defeated without experiencing life outside the concourse.

i got a chance to look at my old address

it looks the same, the painting of the walls were faded; the super doesn't make time to at least upgrade the apartment building

dim lights flickering weakens

i moved away from that part of the bronx

i definitely moved away from washington heights where there was tension between puerto ricans, and dominicans

when i left, i wasn't missed

and i certainly didn't miss anybody

only thing that was missing was police presence to enforce safety in the neighborhood

and when they were there, they were in alliance in the drug game which explains why arrests weren't made

the warning signs were there and i read them indirectly

i saw it, i felt it

countless shootouts

the fragrent smell of death permeated the block like dog urine 

it's a good thing i left on time

even better that i left alive