High Tops [Extended]

Laced up high tops
with strings strung tight
blood stained fabric
from another ghetto night. 
Instead of simply watching,
this time he joined the fight-
ended up left for dead
underneath a street light.
when he shouted,
the gang came running
in his futile attempt
to stop a petty mugging
and now he's bugging
from the beating he's lugging
his broken ribs
cause his nerves to start tugging
bones shattered
legs fractured
face battered
But he would rather
stop a crime
than accept the latter
as a matter of fact
he got whacked with the gat
the culprit shook with laughter
as his ego was flattered
cos pain never mattered to him
trying to stand
noticing a new stain spattered
appearing on his shoes
the mark of the experienced
amidst the navy blue
and the sangria tears
pours from the wounds
if he stays there
he'd prob'ly see heaven's gate soon.
Busted and clocked
pistol-whipped with a glock
they stole his wallet
and snatched his watch
though it wasn't worth much
he's tries to get up
but tastes blood
on his breath
so he lies back down
to collect himself instead
he doesn't sleep
for sleep is the cousin of death
cos if he closes his eyes
they'll never open again
his time descends
he tries again
to stand
his hands
push on concrete
rocks impact
the skin on his hands
where his palms meet
he kicks back his feet
lifts himself off the street
brush the dirt off his cheek
wincing from the torn ligament in his oblique-
drags himself on
with no help from the cops-
thinking about how the violence
never really stops,
nothing left but his shoes and his socks-
he limps back home-
high tops.