Crack the whip again, make me see the cultural defeat.
And as I breathe help me understand.  Why, within my shaking hands.
I can feel the relapse of my bated breath, at this point I don’t know what’s left.
My screams are nothing. Even as my blood within the soil says something.
It teaches a powerful lesson. That even as centuries progress slavery is still a weapon.
The pain I feel never delays, doesn’t even fade away. Because as I retie my shirt, it’s still stained within my hurt. They look at me indifferent. Not because of me limping. My melanated skin. Is what determines my fate, even without my own sin. I was born into a loving family. My only regret is them not informing me of my reality. I can see the difference now, between me and you. Even 200 years later, you have a judgment free path to choose. I used to view my skin as a scar. Separating me from who I really want to be. But once I saw my little girls killed in my own car. It changed my knowledge of who you really are. You are missing a chunk of empathy. Something that’s lost to me. How a person so alike me but so different can commit an act so belligerent. I once wanted to be you. Now that’s a thought I can’t even begin to chew. That’s when I was reminded that we are different. Please listen, I try to cringe on the sour taste of liking you. I was stuck to the binding of it like glue. Now I realize what I was doing. I seemed to be willingly choosing to invite the devil into my home. No More!!!
Loving you was a exhausted chore. One I kept repeating, only thinking your heart would start beating.

Look too deep
Into my eyes a empty  sea. Where freyed trauma's and torn pages. Is all you see.
Crumbled together just as the author created. Fragmented beams drifting into the veins of my eyes.
Every emotion,every piece all beginning to collide. Surfacing into glamour. Imagination's playground. All traumatically dark,deemed sour. Keeping me away from the light,where hate is found.  
Where the surge of power is dilluted within the dark.
A ignited spark is all it takes. To rehabilitate the fire within my eyes.
Look too deep. To the     emptiness that never seems to cease. The light within the cracks that always seem to breath. Even if I don't want it to be. The light that always repeats finally helps me see.

Hazel eyes, hate is very much alive.
Bleached striped hair, parents never cared.
Desaturated makeup, abuse save up.
Branch like lashes, left the guns in the attic.
Bloodied pores, closing doors.
Chipped nails, bleeding Dale.
Scarred skin, occurring sins.
Bloodied skirt, exposed hurt.
Bloodied sneakers, driving by the bleachers.
Steady hands, acting out plans.
Pressurized trigger, pull back finger.
Black handle, blood covered handles.
Full magazine, gruesome scene.
Empty canister, a new cancer.
Staring scope, deprived hope.
Heated Barrel, death written peril.
Dispensing bullets, anger she’s full of it.
Chipped desks, severed heads.
Impacted walls, faint police calls.
Shattered glass, death attracts.
Bodies down, the flag is proud.
Blood soaked tiles, bodies litter the aisles.
Wounded souls, doors closed.
Narrowed screams, a violent portrayal gleams.
Distant sirens, victims silenced.
Blurring smoke, the gun provokes.
Gas mask on, a tragedy in the dawn.
Emergency services, the hurt she did.
Police, she’s loaded to release.
Erupting explosions, a bloodied corruption.
Officer down, **** she’s proud.
Reloading yet again, pain is about to begin.
Hit through the torso, she still has the guns though.
Hard to move, starting to lose her homicidal groove.
Sheering pain, every scream sounds the same.
Another shot, her moment is lost.
Killed by the law, psychosis remains a common flaw.
Aftermath: A tragic path.
Overlooked as a simple girl, an untouched disturbed world.
Within the fragments of abuse and fantasies. Unknown abnormalities
She herself was very misunderstood, had no teachings of the common good.
Parents exposing death, they just didn’t know it.
Breeding a killer, giving violent media to justify a sinner
And they wonder why their daughter made violence a neighbor instead of a impostor.

In a time where making ****** is entertainment
Icons of killers and repeated death giving faces.
Parents leaving kids alone with guns in the basement.
And when kids are in placement, we wonder what the **** happened to Sarah and David.
A gun does not make a medal of honor. When the same gun is used to **** Billy and Connor.
Saviors are portrayed within the bodies in graves. All the while the victim never gets saved.
And all it took was a unlawful ******* to give the kid a gun in the first place. Then they wonder why he caught a case. Masters of manipulation are more than we can tame with. And then that gun is small enough to hide in the width of a backpack. Guitar cases and duffel bags. All plotting the innocent attack of human beings caught by bullets in the back.  And then you got family’s who want to ask why the little kid deserved to die in his desk in his class.  Transforming ammo into trauma. Then you got politicians transforming ammunition into budget raises. And you didn’t know that the same people you praise are helping you give your life away.  And as he walks down that hallway with a AR. Just as you call him a monster think about all the people who contributed to his downfall. The people who abused him and made a call to give that fool an assault rifle. The things projected in his head had to come from somewhere. And I know most of you don’t even care. Just know how the victim feels about it being ‘fair’. I know what you’re thinking. It wasn’t me. Shut the **** up please. You are the reason they can’t breathe. Thoughts like that are the reason this keeps a tract record of continuous attacks. What if it was you. What would you do. You do not want to be in those shoes. So realize the impact of the media you contract and show your kids. Sins all start with a purpose. I just hope you heard this. Because no one deserves it.

The eternal council
A group of black disciples
All knowing
This is why they keep going
Determined and outfit
It’s a common gift
For the people of this cycle
Inter-dimensional at a angle
They see all, They know all
This is why they can’t fall
Always been a part, Always burdened from the start
Celestial glimpses as a art
Frequency is the common key
And this is what they teach
Where the opposed are the decreased
No matter any battle or uncommon disciple
They know whats coming: It’s reliable
Their purpose lacks evil, its all for the people
And any corruption or stolen melanin
Cannot deprive the win from this powerful council
It’s in the nature, it’s a seal in the paper
It’s upon the bark of the brazen tree
Where all the demons flee, where the gifted get their energy
Like the hieroglyphs upon the source
Prepared within the proper course
It’s the preachings upon the stars
Pointing clues at who the true gods really are
Like the truth shown in specs of media
The proof of the visible dominator's
And the majority doesn’t even know her
Just stuck within the grasps of one giant needle
Preventing the truth from being see-able
And yet we’re suffocating in the air we call breath-able
And each day as we unknowingly sin
The real pain doesn’t even start to begin
From the start, they tried to peel us apart
Good from evil, evil from people
But the sad truth is: it’s non-separating
It’s like we’re all bathing in this sad little craving
Of the idea of the “powered” all behaving
Thats why they’re sad, they can’t help us
Because they think saving humanity is a must
This council, this group of black disciples
Does know what happens, while the real ancestors are laughing
Another great reason to be a part of this eternal council.

I grew up in the putrid decay of trauma
Trying to reconstruct the systems drama
Playing a part of victimized slaughter.
Of every word of hope I had, every laugh
Every stab, every push in the back every part of love I lack
Every piece of hate I contract. Man I'm losing track.
Keeping every Jenga piece in the stack.
And I hate the negativity I attract.
Thats why I’m trying something new.
Turning my progression into something true. Every copy, Every piece, Everything I do
Constructed into a new brand of truth
And as time is passing. Voices are still asking. Why is this white kid up here rapping.
And I ‘ll tell you why this is my passion. I hate the thought of our trauma crashing.
Making the better of us while the devil is laughing. And in a corrupt world where body’s are stacking and hurt is open traffic. And the only frequency we receive is static.  And the fact that my mom was an attic only adds comfort to my panic. This system is nerving ending. And the shock is sending a mixed wave of pending impulses. And when the action is constructed, Their only thoughts are the past your stuffed with. Gagged and fed in. The hate of what you did that you’re continuously stuck with. And no matter your current sins. You are still given the opportunity to be forgiven.
Points are misconstrued. Any question, Every answer. Anything you choose.
Lets pick one to re-construe.
Our systems are filled with hate. Abuse to recreate. Siblings are disconnected.
And our worlds are fed with the continuous negativity within our media that our minds our sent with.
Peace within the races is drifted apart. And theres no light in the dark. Only bodies of morals that were taken from the start. Blood fashioned into a negative art. There’s racial divide right where the lines are. And the distance of peace is mile like far. Crimes committed every hour by the powered while someone innocent is arrested every hour. And when the diverted posture of hate is playing a part to keep our mouths sour. Eyes are closed. Centuries of neglect rose. And hatred is like fire ready to emerge from the stove. And our ideas of morals are completely distorted. Warped and contorted. Flooded with the pattern of systematic blood. Ideas of change are purposely adverted. Not enough pineal glands Removed  from the skin when the knife is inserted. The system designed to keep us devoured. Within the difference of civil slavery and power. You want something to pray about. What about the neglect of the deaths of the ones who are left. And yet we are still having *** with the devil, who is the one to meddle with our lively hood.  And yet those things aren’t understood. The first thing to truth being unearthed is.  
The possibility of the word ‘could’. And then change can finally give birth.

I see ravens hovering from above
their eyes bulging like a blown latex glove.
I see cockroaches coverings her skin
swarming until her fear is thin.
I see spiders descending from her closed eyes,
as they open, the fear in the air is revived.
I see a spine rolling in the mud,
teeth lie in each bone covered with blood.
I see a forest dim and private,
but Satan is heart in the silence.
I see her eyes open and wide,
her bulbs are split among three small sides.
I see a knife hanging from a small coil,
blood is trickled onto the soil.
I hear music in the distance,
murderous women thrive the Devil's resistance
I see her lips adjusting to mine,
frost covers them in an alphabetical line.
I see butterflies all over her visible thighs, flying until the blood gets dry.
I see her coming into my body;
My only wish is to tell the Devil, "I'm sorry".