Is there rehab for a workaholic?
I think of it and frolic, forcing little thoughts of my feeble mind to flip and *****.
I wish that I could cherish little moments before they're gone
And have the verbal verbosity of a love song
Long lost in these words ; fire to my c4
Sunset to the sea shore
That's my work to me but I  see
Love through a peephole
Tenacity is feeble and my patience is unfaithful
I think my money tree
must be my rehab
Yea, I can sleep when I'm dead
In my head I can hear
Voices asking me for bread
Fantasizing bout my death and how I lived along instead
Where's the money, gimme that
Cash, credit, bonds and stacks
Cash, credit, bonds and stacks wll take away a ***** life.
Workaholic

Too good at dying to not live long
Too bad at living to never get it wrong
Too high to riot, too ****** to breathe
Too caught up with words to tell the meaning beneath
Too broke for pride, too stubborn for mercy
Too grungy to be dapper, too skinny to be ****
Too old for small thoughts, too young for big words
Too scared to seek clarity, drowning in these words
Too lit to blank out, too ***** for long hours
Too weak to make an effort to have you in my arms
Too late for apologies, **** your assurances just leave the keys at the door

If life taught me anything, it's that dreams come with sacrifices.
I had to let go of some bad habits and a couple vices
Cos what's worse than bullets that leave your body lifeless?
Staying alive with ambitions that don't materialize. Its
Pretty funny how some folks fail to realize this
And those who do find the process Pretty demoralizing
It's pretty easy to look pretty in every picture
Changing poses and positions like it's kama sutra
I mean, your life isn't fake, you really own it don't ya?
But in the place of your dreams, you got some guilty pleasure
You swear one day, you'll change and grow
But first let's cop that new iphone;
"Versace Versace, **** I'm glowing"
"No plan B, this is all I know"

"Is it worth it?"
"Did I put enough work in?"
"Will they love it?"
I ask myself after every piece of art
every attempt at greatness
After all, every great artist ever worked this hard
so why? why does desolation resonate with me?
Why do I retire to an empty room?
If she can't be mine then really,
"Is it worth it?"
"Did I put enough work in?"
"Will she love me?"

I see them,
while i try to cross these busy streets
parading their armored cars and uniforms
causing a delay in movement

I see them,
marching in lines, parading,
taking instructions in a boy scout manner
robotic movements,
once again blocking the busy streets.

O ye men of war!
charged with the duty of protecting
causing commotion at the same vain
you have become instruments of violence
tools of "saviors" of our economy

they say you're here to maintain peace and order
the only order you obey is bloodthirsty.

OPERATION CROCODILE SMILE  
that is what they call your mission,
elites are relaxed, masses unhappy
I cannot be deceived for I already know

I feel the impending war, the brutality of a leader
the great unrest.
you could just be the cause of war.
I see you as a disguise of civil war
stopping the star of the people from rising

I can only but watch events unfold
for I am but a concerned citizen

how is it that I've never been fAMOUS?
the spirit and body, they both wanna blame us
my subconscious is eroding my conscience
I'd fight back if I ever found the patience
living in dreams as lucid as the book of life
that's not at all, you think lucifer dont see the light?
precious as everything I'm built to be
so dont dare talk me down or accuse me