One day I'll art a craft-
so realistic that it will blow
your mind.
It will have less rhymes,
It won't be about suicide
or break-ups;
nor about life's up's and downs.

No, it won't carry silver blades
to unwound your past.
Every soul knows
you use to smoke crack
but not what you
went through inside;
Just like that day when you
came to know your stomach
contained life,
you thought to end your time
you walked through these morons
and they'd scroll through your
***** tights,
I imagine how it feels to be 16teen
and carry your brothers son
below your ****?

Humans are so dumb enough
to lie to their guilt through
weighing your sins.
This poem I will write one day-
will pound inside the bellies of
the soil monsters who chew
our forefathers into bones,
they will cough out their flesh
cause some how I really
can't get over my aunt's death.
-
I wish you enjoy it....