Daydreams of you haunt me at night, the frightening sight of me holding you tight.
Breathing heavy, sweating, looking for a lip to bite.
It might be nightmarish to stare into your cold eyes, but cold stares don't lie,
they might **** and I might die, but for sure I won't cry.
These daydreams scream obscene obscenities torturing my memories,
sending me to limbos with no souls, and no way out.
I shout into silence and silence then pouts. I fear this dreaded destination,
this nation of introspective meditation. Just face it, there's no face to save it,
no place for shelter, this helterskelter is inescapable. Incapable but breakable,
for sake's sake the will is shakable. These daydreams I swear, scare themselves,
like label less books upon empty shelves. Let the faded pages delve deep into the depth of my id and ego,
let us see how far the rabbit hole goes, maybe to wonder the underland who truly knows?
Daydreams of you haunt me at night, untucked and cold I sleep in fright.
Maybe this notion of holding you tight, will send into motion
heavy breathing, sweating, and a lip to bite.
Now hurry off to bed, for this lullaby is dead, goodnight to thoughts and the whispers in your head.

They said I couldn’t do it, they said I stood no chance.They said I was a fool, a jig without a dance.They said I’d be a failure, they said I’d be a joke.They said I couldn’t make it, a man about to choke.They said I couldn’t win it, they said I couldn’t fight.They said my days were over, as if they’re always right.They said I’d lose it all, they said I’d die in vain.They said I’d be forgiven, if only I’d admit the pain.Like I care what they say.

It’s a torturous thing you have done to me, to take away your kiss.You have banished me for the beautiful kingdom the is your lips.I cannot dream, but live in a nightmare, the vacant taste on my pallet.The empty expression in the mirror. You have sent me to hell.Forever devastated by my pain and sorrow.It is a torturous thing you have done to me, to take away your kiss.To leave me to my own devices, never knowing how much you’re missed.

This poem has no title, this poem has no rhyme, this poem needs no pages, this poem is a crime. This poem is a liar, this poem is a joke, this poem is a makes a mockery of all the intellectual folk. This poem is no savior, this poem is no king, this poem does not sparkle, this poem does not sing. This poem has no title, it author has no name, it's words are all but final, and if they are it'll be a shame. This poem is a liar, this poem is a joke, the words of a 'never was', a man about to choke. This poem holds no grudges, the poem places no blame, this poet is a player, in a cruel and unforgiving game.

I said I'd write you something beautiful, something to tell you how I feel.Something to say you're special, like my voice sweet with a chill.I want my lips to learn your body, my hands to fit you frame.Your eyes to see my eyes, your heart to do the same.When I'm away from you my kiss gets lonely, my arms feel heavy, my legs get weak.When I run my miles I think of you. How you make it hard to breath.Its like a painful happiness, because at the end I know you're waiting for me.I said I'd write you something beautiful, something to tell you how I feel.Something to say you're special...N.Y.K.

All that thuggish bravado, those wannabe tough guys throwing up gang signs like fireworks of the fourth of ju-lie.Save it for the streets, keep it out the homes. Let the lead run down these meaningless gutters, don't let the fam see whats shown.Save it for the streets, the vanity of this rap realm, a world of hard words and harder falls.Save it for the streets, keep the guns out of school, keep the **** inside down, til that bell rings and the streets are open. Let the hatred fly, green light means go, yellow means get out the mutherfukin way, and red means bleed ***** bleed.Save it for the streets, all the death of the hood, leave it in the streets, black streets turn red.Save it for the streets, cause homes were built for one man armies or gang bangin fools, families can be supported on hot lead and sorrow.So next time you feel the urge to go buckwild, and let off some steam, just remember I said "Save it for the streets".

White padded walls, they are the only ones that heed my calls. The doctors stand outside with clipboards, questioning my actions. Wanting reasons for my violent conviction. Their time is short, why waste it on me. I'm not crazy, just eccentric. In all I do, I am eccentric. Quick witted, sharp tongued, eyes wide open. These men and women in white coats know nothing. Text book junkies with no sense. I am insane, to a point where its comforting. Never caring for the consequences or repercussions of actions that may or may not have any merit. A hunt for fool's gold in the diamond mines of my mind's eye.I've lost track of the minutes, hours, days, weeks , months, years, decades, centuries, millenniums. Like moments that past as fast as a blink, time escapes my grip.Like my insanity, it comes and goes like the wind.White padded wallsThe only listeners of my callsTell me to hushbut the voices in my head say " you're crazy, walls can't talk".