If I had a gold earring on each ear I could be something.

If I had black skin all around me, and a reliable companion, it would mean something.

If I had a tight piece of ass, I could feel something.

If I had an eight-ball and a corner I could heal something.

Maybe show some lip. Maybe rob some dick – like – "You want soma what I got? Open your wallet. Gimmie all your money. I know you have friends. They need supply yo. Just open your wallet. Open your wallet then. Gimmie all your fuckin money."

Or could I?

In the end wouldn't I still be a skinny white dude with a chip on his shoulder, trying to slip himself inside warm holes that will always remain empty?

Maybe -- but I don't think so.

Cuz here's what I got: I know there's a girl -- maybe several. I know there's a street -- a couple ghettos. The ornaments will come. The ornaments will come. With time. That's what they always say, right? With time.

I sense the closeness. I sense the warmth.

I feel cool breath on my naked back. Fingers running up and down my side.

One day I will break free by breaking in.

One day I'll look at the hands clutching my wrist, clutching so hard at my wrist, loving and breaking and tearing at my wrist, and I'll say:

It's time.

-- No turning back --

To let go.