On the 13th of December, 1996,
Tupak Shakur entered Heaven
Free styling to the angels whom
Found the beauty in a language
Lost to them when trying to
Understand mortals.

    The angels, amazed and petrified
    At the realness asked:
    " Who are you? Where did you come from?"
   And he flowed like a prophesy,
   What he spat was street life truth,
    And all the world was a ghetto.
    For a moment the angels were
    Concerned, but then the archangel
    Michael shook his hand and nodded,
    From then on Tupak was the first
    **** Angel.

Loops feel cursed to me,
I've been living in them for God knows how many weeks,
I'd do anything to break the pattern,
anything to make them scatter,
I've been picking the scab on my chin for an hour,
You won't read my texts anymore,

Everything I eat,
no matter how sweet,
tastes sour,
Probably a side effect again,
Isn't it always in the end?
Just a side effect again.

I've been spelling words inside my head,
It makes me feel crazy but the patterns will save me,
Just make this all stop please,
I'm tired of this repetitive clicking,
It's really really itching,
I can't breathe

It's just the side effects again
They always say it is in the end.

I'm not so active
I may not know how to live
and I don't exercise but I exercise my right
to keep this in my line of sight
at all times
and somehow my muscles are as sore as when they tear away
but only from the shivering
I've gotten done these past few days
I shake and shake
and my racing heart keeps pace
with the chattering of my teeth
as my entire being vibrates
from the inside out all except for my vocal chords
whom long to move with the rest of me
to let you know that you could leave here with the best of me
build your lifeboat and life vest in me
and we can sail together to the east
ignore reason
commit treason
while they're sinking,
we hold on tighter to this fleeting feeling
run around
until I burn myself to the ground
because it feels so good to burn
when you're always left this cold
and no exercise
can repair these severed ties
or even make me want to try
to find a stillness in my soul
to find my niche
to find a home
to focus on a mastery
when being fluent in one language
won't ever land you on the front page
no matter what it is you have to say
but I only know the language of the sleepless nights
in the dialect of "the fear of another wasted day"
and when I overhear comments
on my "newfound" accent
all I really hear is
"her words never mattered anyway"
but they'll remember with the Frost
that "Nothing gold can stay"
and misquote me
on my final day.

Contradictions covered in skin
Nonsense pulsing with blood

explosions concealed with smiles
screams concealed with whispers

Lies hidden by truths
Desires bruised by structure

Cautions concealed by ease
Doubts shadowed by silence

Wants hidden with compromise
Ineffeciences closed behind a door

Distance blurred by intimacy
Trust warped by anxieties

Pain stifled by Foundation
Love restrained by disillusionment

On the brink of regret,
I tred in realization.

On the cliff of euphoria,
I gaze over dissatisfaction.

In the heart of angst,
I inhale the malice.

By the bedside of contentment,
I stir in reservation.

On the stool of accomplishment,
I kneel before expectation.

In the cloud of resentment,
I discern self-assurance.

In the balloon of gaiety,
I fly above grief.

&  with  the sight of you,
I feel the joy of me.