I haven't written in a long time.
The slave-driving mind of mine forces these chained hands
into spilling ink to canvas.

The woods are crawling with impossibilities,
as the nowhere home calls me evermore.

I walk a distance to find myself back at the entrance of it all.
The alpha, the beginning.

Is this growth? Is this monumental?
--
We give credence to paper.
It's no longer a tool for survival, but a god in our pockets.
A Christmas ******* miracle.
There are times where I'd like to cry,
But as a friend said, "my tear ducts were seared closed long ago."
--
The Forest crawls with impossibilities.
The trees beckon,
and I slowly begin again.

I left my brain to the left of the stove.
I think it's on fire.

Run the ******' Jewels, friend.

I try to write to the beat,
but **** it, I'll just strip instead.

I work in sales; I work in industry.
****, the things I say are all lies,
so what's the point of even writing them?

Because I can't write good truth for the life of me.
I can speak it though.

Catch me in court, cuz I'm trying to be hard.
It's all *******. It's just a parking ticket.

We're obsessed with hard *******, and chill *** ******.
#blacklivematters
It's true, and we're all in danger.

Who else grew up in the suburbs but is trying to go hard as they can?
Masculinity means cars, cash, *******, and ***.
If you ain't getting *****, you just a *****.

Thanks Drake, for teaching us what's important.
Kendrick speaks to 'Pac, I wonder if he used ouija board.
It's the weird line between demonic and technology.

I'm just writing off the dome,
I wonder how different this would be if I were sitting at the seafoam.

Let's praise our idols; not praise our God.
Let's ****, ****, lick, blow.
We all know there is no next show...

So what the **** are you living for?

A bitter ****-fest of lollapalooza.
Burn(ing) me, man. but don't taze me, bro.

If I got high on legalized substances, am I still escaping?
Metaphoric endorphin rushing as patio furniture sits silently,
slowly choking as I fill it with my own ***.

I haven't written in so long, because I lack some passion.
I haven't written verbal joust in the form of bitter tongue because I felt it lacked restraint.

I ****** with a straight jacket; it felt great.
Perpetual virginity, a fool's errand running.
I have my V-card still; kind of... it's stunning.

I left a can of gasoline at an alien's house.
I came back and fire had engulfed what was left of my sorrows.

"I thirst," said He, the savior of the world.
Let's all ignore the singing signs of everything, boys... girls...

I have not a word to say in recompense for exploitation of your idiotic murmurings.
Well done, my good and faithful burdenings.

I can't speak to what hasn't yet been said,
but I can sure as hell guestimate, that we'd probably all be dead.

This **** ain't free.
Thank you, Kendrick Lamar, for reminding me.

This is me unfettered.
This is me unchained.
Give me a pen and some paper:
this **** will get strange.

I am Fred Astaire with a **** so fine, you'd think it's aged wine the way it twirls and floats.

Breaking up is ******, now put this poem down your throat.

He feels alone in a room full of people.
He supposes, "I guess that hasn't changed,"
and continues on about his day.

Hearing the words, "I thirst," in his frustrations and loneliness,
he looks back and watches the cross leave marks
from where he had come from,
and he began to wonder what they'd look like
the further he traveled.