Thoughts. .

a Rose From Earth is Slowly Burnt as out future's Over Turned
& these Lonely Words in Pockets Of Nothing, Hold Their Worth.
my Spoken Word is poetically structured Truth for the forsaken
who Plan To Make It in a Land Of Hatred at the Hands of Satan.
each stanzas basic reality bent & inked for my twisted pleasure
Feeling Pressured, my Gifted Measures merely Scripted Leisure
to Sit and Treasure then reminise w/ grandkids not Shy of truth
subsided views . . know i'll Hang with Envy, but only By a Noose
Primed to Shoot for the Stars, but were Missing & Hitting Mars
Then being Caught Up in the Emotional Storm we now Disgard.
Emotional Scars forme Patterns Etched in Mother Natures Face
Others cater grace, moving w/ a change of pace, covers laced.
we play the game steadily, step heavily, tread water with ease
Drop cents, quaters released, hold Aourglass figures of speech.
Liquorice twists the black thoughts my mental holds & contains
folks with no name, just distorted dialect from a comic book page

So BaSiCly iT's A gAMe,
We PLaYeD bAcK iN gRaDe SiX. .
At FiFtEEn i StAyEd BaCk AnD gAzEd aT tHe ScRiPts. .

iT's LiKe sKiEs aND gRaSS . .
aPPLeS aND oRaNgES
bATTLeS sO mORBiD,
LiFeLiNeS wOn`T cATcH.
yOUR dRiFT dOeSn`T mAKE sEnSE,
wiTH nO cHeESe yET
LaCk oF gReEn giVeS mE tHe bLuEs,
wHeN i bLeED rED.
cAUgHT iN viNeS oF sUcCeSS,
bUT sTiLL tRYiN` tO wiN
LyiN' tO KiDs cLaiMiN',
i'M faMoUS . . siLeNT iN sCRiPTs. .


eHhH, FiNiSH iT yOURsELF.

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W o r d P e r f e c t