The Quarantined

Drinks up!
Isolation at it finest,
While you think of…
While you think of…
While you think of…
Another way out the cage you were built from,
Old habits like to make their way back into the mind of a man gone mad.
Pure in his ways when he splits you with a long gash,
From machetes like,
How you gon’ act?
When you’re outlined in chalk,
By principle.
A prophet of the word painting visuals,
Of death by the pen in the physical,
Excorsizing demons out a body hungry from a minimal,
Intake of food whipped up by the drive to devour any hope possible for any other…

All he sees around him is nonsense.
Poverty in every sense,
While he thinks of a dime he can floss with.
On a cloud of smoke,
While he tallies every loss in,
A piece of paper meant to be the Eulogy for every fraud,
Kissing death when they test the only Student of God in,
A land of monsters…

Trotting through the neighborhood,
Crossing any line preventing me from flying high on the Lotus.
More like America preparing for war with thee,
Inhabitants blinded by their habits in a concrete jungle giving birth to a Savage…

Drinks up!
A world wide division at its finest…
While he glares at the blinded,
Even if he’s beat through his own vices,
A pen is writing up an ending to this crisis…
Blood everywhere from the Walls,
To the Street,
To the curb where minorities eat,
Each other for a much wanted feast…
Bodies everywhere on the floor,
On the ground,
Where we ground up the masses just to meet,
Up through highs we obtain through a grind for a feat…
No one in this world can ever reach…
When he’s already King,
In a land with no one left to protect from the lies most of us eat,
As we’re feeling empty…

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