I feel it in my bones.
Wired in with,
An ache pulsating all across a body desiring bliss.
My version of it?
A moment to write verses and shit.
Holding a mic,
Serving a bitch,
Many rhymes I’ve worded to fit,
Inside of a mind I’ve noticed has flipped,
Hollowed out from each pump held by those akin,
For weening off of every bottle of liquor,
During nights they would bicker,
Resorting to being the bigger man in our picture…
Apologies for being scattered with rhythm!
I’ve done myself a disservice by isolating from my journals over the latter’s decision,
To kick me off ladder leading to my escape out of a prison,
I’ve been inside of for what feels like life…
Discovering my route to freedom,
After it was seized by each demon I feed when looking behind me!
I find myself asking.
“Does the past become the past only when you choose to move past it?
Does the past stay in the past only when you decide to keep your mind on your present actions?
Never mind that while I work on a hat trick!
Capping off every night without pulling up rabid,
Into glass homes never meant to alleviate your madness.
Glass homes only meant to destroy whatever is magic!
Glass homes shattering the minute that I stood up and stomped across a floor shaken up by my sadness…
Another blunt for all the lies I’ve had it with.
Does it allow every lie to singe into ashes sprinkled along the caskets of bad memories?
I’m afraid it doesn’t.
Feel braver that it budges,
Not a single piece of debris,
From a War against a Devil I’ve sworn to rise above in victory…
What is victory for me?
Is it grace,
On a stage,
Where my inner child sings for me?
Fame on a stage where God feels sick of me?
Just pain on a page where a plot’s dug out for a diamond that can only reflect the light you give it!
We have no other choice,
To seek better days even if we’re feeling broken.
Through deep rest after being depressed over what you’ve chosen in your past,
The present moment…
Doesn’t matter what betrayal,
Even if It occurred because of who you’ve deemed closest.
Don’t backstab yourself when it’s you handing on an edge,
With nobody else there to pull you up from a death known to be as common as our lack of.