"The Rain" produced by Ro Blvd.

the raindrops penetrate the ground beneath my feet, as i move in the streets trying to not slide and slip. i'm frightened a bit, but in my defense, the thunder and lightning provided the nighttime with Dramatic (get it? The Dramatics? no? k) twist. so i scattered the tips of blunt residue ashes. i don't smoke it, but it was in the pocket of this jacket i had borrowed from my nigga, and hopefully tomorrow will be clearer, but for now the ground is like a mirror, and i can see the moon's reflection next to my toes--the ill crescent--pulling me into the night. it feels destined. it's like the rain is talking to my soul, it's amazing. it sounds crazy. you'd say i'm crazy, but i don't even wipe my face, instead i open up my mouth to taste what's real amidst the fake. something of substance, but now all my vision is hazy. yo, i think i'm going crazy.

back to the realistic. realizing i'm drenched with rain, snap back into brain and now i'm pissed and upset, i hear the pistons and the fuel injection of my ride as i slide the key into the ignition and jet. and now it's like i'm feeling perplexed because i'm anxious and feel a slight itch near the back of my neck. a small voice faintly telling me to stay, telling me to lay low for the evening, but [it seems] i never make the correct decision. you'd think that i was listening to "little red corvette" up in my ten disc changer. i'm driving fast like i need anger management class, take a left to pass this lady applying her makeup. and the street is so slick that i slip, i'm trying to get a grip of the steering wheel, now i'm hearing bells and whistles and sirens. the ambulance coming and i'm trying to stay awake, [but] diving, falling face first into silence. and then nothing, step to a blank canvas. removed from the world's atlas, i'm feeling like alice. i'm moving through the looking glasses dazed, but it still doesn't phase me. it sounds crazy. and i know i'm not dreaming, but i know i can't be seeing what i'm seeing. no need for my feet because i'm floating through the wide open spaces, hoping that nobody tries to save me. i'm going crazy.

no longer feeling calm, i leave my fantasy world transported to a new destination with some needles in my arm and pumping on my chest for the resuscitation. it takes all my breath to say "somebody call my moms and my pops." surrounded by the firefighters, cops and the general public, all discussing my faith. the only thing left to do is trust in my faith. i'm flashing back to the moments that i was hovering in space. but now a nigga's covering my face, i guess i gone. damn. i ain't even get to write my novel "The Life And Times of The Boy Inside The Glass Bottle". it was a work in progress i had said i'd start tomorrow. but now tomorrow's gone, yet i don't feel hollow. i feel complete, [for] my mother kissed my cheek. and now i can fly, i touch heaven's eyes with just enough force to make the firmament cry and now it's raining.