I am the fire that burns,
it yearns
to consume ,
engulf and turn to ash.
The phoenix is ugly.
Why live to self destroy and rebirth just to repeat"
Don't kindle this heat, just bring peace.
I rather self-emulate than self-immolate
but this fire burns from hate.
Hate of self and hate of others.
That is the Phoenix.

Rush,
Hype,
Energy,
Drive.
New York rush is it's own lust.
Got cars,
Buses,
Trains,
all sorts of Planes,
Attractions,
Lights Flashing,
It's New York Action.
That's my life all right
N-Y-C is all I see  
Manhattan is where I be.

It’s like some heavy mass in the center of yah chest
But you can walk without losing any breath.
A black hole that’ll crush all the meat and bone.
Pulling all the nerves till it collapses on it’s own.
Forever lasting blasting dark thoughts into yah head.
Questions form about the dead.
How will you die if you fry not in a pan
but on pavement or asphalt from a car accident.
Will I burn to death or die from pain.Obscure questions all the same.
It hurts a little, bluntly.
All the sudden it ends abruptly.

Why do I write ?

I write!
I write to relieve strife and feel right!
To feel light, like a feather,
and feel better after heavy weather.
Spiritually I am debated,
I am hated,
I write to vandalize the page and feel sated.

I write to confine confidence that I am the best,
I am the next to write about the human perplex systematic disorder,
or about the mentality of a hoarder,
who holds words in his head all day and night till he's filled with fright.

I write for the same reason you write
To escape life and get some thoughts on a page.