Yo wait a minute... who's on who's ****?
The vibe's only gay cause you introduced it,
You're an *******, you only produce ****,
The stupid kid in school that's sniffin' them glue sticks,
I'm the bully, so gimme your ****** money nerd,
I've beaten twenty-two kids up! You can be the twenty-third!
"Yo your **** is wack!" Says every rapper ever,
but not with this guy! I'm just too too clever!
You may think "But you just said it idiot!"
And I'll reply: Be a little considerate.
It was just an example, and you were the recipient!
You aren't even rapping anyway, you're not a participant.
I'm sitting here rappin and I ain't hear a ****** word.
Did I shut your *** up? Am I a ******* wizard?
Abra-Kadabra? Abra-Whatty?
Here's the full spectrum, to a tolerable degree:
Deaf, dumb, blind, black,
in other words, anxiety attack!
All that **** would **** man
no secret plan, cave man?
You can't take over or turn these tides
I'm the tidal wave *****, when I crash you hide!
But I guess it's time to say goodbye
so here are some farewell rules that you need to abide by:
Turn a blind eye, wear a snappier tie
and don't treasure hunt ****, give it a try.

so I brought my writer wife
(prominently pregnant)
to the hospital
and on her bed, she screamed:
"weren't" "hasn't" "couldn't" "shan't"
"aint" "hadn't" "you're" "isn't"
"aren't" "didn't" "wasn't"
"who's?" "what's?" "he's" "she's"

The doctors were confounded
and they turned to me and they said:
"What the hell is she doing?"

And I replied with double speed
and a violent sense of urgency:
*"Don't you know?
She's having contractions -
she's a writer"

Before I start the magic off, can I turn the tragic off?
That's like telling a verb to turn the action off.
I've sworn to secrecy but now I'm kinda bored,
I will expose the truths and exchange my views for knives and swords,
I've tried these ****** more times than a robber tries a door,
I guess they make these sirens for,
alerting others part of task force,
to stop this *******,
from obtaining a bachelors and crashing cars through his neighbors back porch,
when I get a misters just say bye to the Rav 4,
Get a mack truck, show it to a mountain like a crack *****,
and if a sore ever opened up I'd never cover,
I'd let it fester get infected because I love to suffer.
A sadomasochists I sleep on nails for comfort,
I go to hell for summer just to see if ****** made me supper,
you should know I am my fathers sun - watch the horizon,
I could be setting or be rising any time of the day,
It all depends on perspective, but you can make your mind up.
On speed, vibing to me, I'm going to take my time bruhh.
A man that's twice my age shouldn't have this in his mind,
regardless of whats he's seen,
been exposed to or he's dreamed,
I'm a pessimist prime, with speciality in design,
I can create your worse nightmare and inflict suicide,
now you decide you if you really want to listen more,
I don't recommend it... *****.

Epistemologically I am the source,
for hatred, love, peace and wars,
whatever's done is done unto me,
and nothing more,
so severed four tail bones of a geisha,
left no tip for a waiter,
except go back to college,
and bachelor in communications,
and then commune with Satan,
two vacations, write with a plume that's placed in,
the blood of Judas with juice from his noose on your apron,
hold fast to the statement of ******, and fornication,
and when you run out of patience he will show up with a conveyance,
your soul for some placement on #1 radio stations,
so of course you sign, the dotted line, promoting your skills debasements,
those hours spent in the basement,
you coward how can you face him with powers prescribed from Jason,
who killed your father for payment.

Osama your occupation, terrorizing the minds,
of children to young to think of themselves, help keep them blind,
in the dark, as you preach false thoughts to top the charts,
bet if you stabbed you in the chest, you wouldn't feel a heart.

Rolling out of bed, feeling kinda dead I read a note my mom left, I think.

"You're dead kid just kidding but get the dishes out the sink!"
I blink, look at Pisces, the fishes, and think "I'll have a drink."
I get a glass of water saying "What're you thinking?"
I may be superstitious in addition to grinning, 'cause that looks delicious, so much so my head goes spinning.
Grab a slice of pie 'n have a chit chat with Death,
"Man I wanna die but I can't take a breath. This **** is getting quite old now, I'm a ******* mess. I'm not even dressed yet and I'm really depressed. God please bless me or ******* lay me to rest, or dress me, I'm guessing you'll give me a vest. I've messed up so much in my life, I've made no progression. Please suggest that I've had the best and give me that vest. I'm feeling quite cold now; still feeling undressed. I go through the beta test, next up the alpha test, then way over the cuckoo's nest. What's next? A hornet's nest? Is that your ******* best? I'm unimpressed; and now I'm resisting arrest. You can't have me; I'm me not the rest! But I guess if you're still thinking about it... cardiac arrest."

I seem to go back and forth, neither coming in first
It's hard to choose when you don't know your worth.
It feels like the worst, like I could blow up or burst, right through the roof, or maybe down through the earth.

Responsibility.
I always count
always up to fourteen.
No matter what
or how many times
I may count,
no matter what
or how many
I expect,
there will always
be a sudden...
realization?
Perhaps?
I try it vertical
horizontal,
but it’s always
fourteen.
Fourteen as in
when I met you
fourteen as
in the absence of two.
Iloveyou.

I was born on February twenty-third
I was told by my mother that I'm a Pisces
I weigh one hundred twenty-five pounds
I'm five foot eight
And a half.

I have watches and sweaters and things to keep me warm and know when to be home to call my grandmother
I have blankets to tell me nice things
and curtains to keep the branches of my neighbors from entering my room but they don't mind.
They hate the feeling of glass
Even with the Sun piercing their every pane and the Moon blaming them for not being as bright.
The trees whistle through my curtains anyway but I don't mind, I'm a good neighbor
They think I'm a good neighbor.
I block them out to hold tight the thoughts of them just being there.

I have shelves to hold my things the things I hope to last forever but the very same things that will only last a moment.
I try to take care to my alarm clock by not pressing the snooze button
It stiffens my blankets and pushes the branches from my curtains

I'm still learning how to whisper even though...
Even though I don't want anyone to hear me breathe.
I'm afraid of spiders
I'm afraid of the branches waking me up from my 2am turnings
I'm afraid of my caffeine-run smile.
But you make me mesmerize into your eyes and I realize I'm not afraid of waking up or the threads of my sweaters unravelling or my blankets insulting me I'm afraid of what my eyes will do when I wake up and when all I have are threads and my blankets are no longer trying to keep my fingers and toes warm
You remind me of how I'm afraid of not being able to hold my sweater threads
You remind me I'm afraid of how my blankets aren't even able to keep themselves warm.

What will my curtains do without any branches to hold there
What will my blankets ever warm up
They'll be begging for me to light candles but I'll be struggling to find any matches
My battery set of eyes will make me hit the snooze button and the dust will gather on the tip of my finger so I have to wipe it on my blankets.

Hi.
My name is Paul.
I enjoy books and stars and eggs.
I have shaky knees for a girl who likes folded blankets and boxes of things from a shelf
My hobbies include pressing the snooze button lighting matches with no intent and skipping over the terms and conditions.
I stand behind my curtains to hide from my metaphors
And my mother never told me to find an Aquarius to swim in.
I don't have any fins but I do have hands which have fingers who haven't been warmed up in a long time but I know that I can muster enough strength to hold onto your hand just to walk around the block to buy a carton of eggs.
My hands aren't really able to do anything else
except pressing the snooze button and lighting a match for a few seconds of warmth
for only a few fingers
but those are just enough to open my curtains
and fold my blankets.
Those are just enough to press play on our nights away from the sound of a distant wind.
The sound our hearts can make are louder than any whisper I cannot produce
or any crack of an eggshell
or any trinket falling off the shelf and onto our pillow.

Obedient to instinct,
I sink my teeth into your neck,
and split your jugular,
soaking you off like a stubborn label.

You're a remarkable piece of shallowness.
I startled you and you startled me.
I'll set you down on a lap of lichen,
with your two black eyes that I couldn't see,
any more than you see a window.

I was stunned into stillness,
our eyes locked and someone threw away the key.
It emptied our lungs,
it felled the forest,
shook the field,
it drained the pond.
The world dismantled and tumbled
into that black hole set of eyes.

Uncollected and unconnected,
loose leaf and blown.

I missed my chance.
I should have gone for the throat.
Blood pulses in my gut,
through your jugular, as falling snow.