So what do you want from me, you want a ton from me?
You ain't getting none from me. Stop with the pleasantries, peasant please you gotta pay the apparent fees.
If you don't you'll get stung by rampant bees just like the rhymes I identify, the marks I leave on you will solidify, don't bother tryna nullify me you can't run-if-I chase you.
What'll happen to your suit-if-I drop these lyrical napalms on your glory? Things'll get gory so rub some lotion on your payin' palms although I doubt that's gonna protect you.
Notice how my mouth affects you. As the British say: "Flipping eck!" I'll slit your neck. Me and rhymes where does that point intersect? Right here while I'm crushing this little tiny insect.

The night was like a jagged edge,



When the traveller arrived,



Shadows cutting into corners,



Where the light, was trying to hide.



Thunder reverberating like sheet metal,



Lightening quivering to the ground,



Spelling out prayers in the blackness.



Whilst the waves on the shore did pound.



The moon in communion with the night,



Telling stories to the seas,



As anxiety disturbing the oceans sleep,



Tossing and turning in turbulent breeze.



He entered the cave in silence,



Laid his prize onto the ground,



A waxen figure of immortality,



That could not make a sound.



He watched the waters foam,



Along the secret line of the spine,



Wishing he could prolong the bliss,



Before the sea proclaimed, it’s mine.



With human anguish the sea did roar,



And took the prize to it’s breast



The traveller exited his work now done,



Only unlike him,  the sea would not rest.

So I’ll tell you why I write.
I write because I’m the protagonist of my own stories.
I write because in my stories, I solve the problems that invariably creep up between people and I
In the most heroic ways possible
I write because in my world,
Not every rainbow ends in a *** of gold
But sliding across its multicolour will be the happiest memory in your mind
I write because my stories are clouds that do have real silver linings
I write because 3 am is time for chai, and childhood stories
Impromptu bike rides to greet the sleeping night
But all I can do is write.
I write because I’m angry and frustrated but
you asked me not to turn my anguish onto my body
and leave battle scars for the world to question -
so I write instead.
I write because sometimes,
the tumult in my head comes from
words that are struggling to spill forth from my brain
and stain empty pages with their loud meaning.
I write because
Writing is the only way I have to make sense
of this messy world we live in.