With every line written,
All I have given,
These rhymes nothing more,
Than self made prison,
Trying to avoid tunnel vision,
The pen that left crimson,
The petals of emotion,
The decals of wisdom,
Rip apart
Like faint heart,
This ain't art.
This dirt on my shoes,
Ain't wishing for me to loose,
Every step taken,
The pages left brazen,
True rhymes feel like a haven,
For the endangered species of the kingdom,
I ain't talking about reading between the lines,
I am talking about freedom.