I wonder if she feel the fire when she close 2 me
I try 2 keep 2 the shadows so they don't notice me
We always texting n chatting but she don't go wit Me
She still in love wit that nigga, so she don't notice me
Like baby who do u hit up whenever yo rage is pent up
I say n u should get rid of the old, forget that hoe nigga
But he yo 1st so I get it, he own yo soul so I face it
I gotta buy u from buddy or let my burner cremate'em
I hope in time u will c
How much n love we can b
Maybe if I get mo famous
Maybe if I got mo cheese
Maybe if I got u jewelry my love a enter yo soul
Baby wit u Imma sona, without im 'deslant n cold
I think I'll never ever make this right
Cuz cupid gave me bad advice
He told me she will love u back but all she do is fake n fight
He told me id c heaven's gates n all I saw was vacant eyes
Would hurt her if it helped me cope but that means nothing in my life
(I ran outta shit 2 say, but I love u girl. Stop fuckin around n let me have u.....heh heh.......)
What is it that makes me bleed profusely?
I search for this plank in my eye... sawdust?
Like the grains of sand and gravel, subtly,
We then subconsciously blink to adjust,
Avoiding an unfortunate sully.
Blood had spewed everywhere as if a splash!
Blinded and beneath waves of sultriness,
Boiling and cauterizing subtle wounds,
This juxtaposition of subtle pain.
Pain has always been subtle, always has.
Like the way your glasses broke into shards.
I have always known these fragments of glass.
Never blood, sand, gravel, sawdust, a plank.
But your subtle beautiful concussion.
A sudden power outage
What exactly is meant
By inexorable grief,
Dawned on me
Off my guard
Setting my heart afire
That knows not a relief!
What a dead or dump nose
That doesn't sense
Death hovers close!
That is why
Oblivious to facts on the ground
I stuck to"Forever together!"
The Almighty lends
The bereaved power
Such a gloomy hour!
churned until it turns to a sweet fluid
the mystical food that fills the land with warmth
churn that butter, rippled with fat
with that wooden broom stick working your magic
let your creation poison the world......
about 14 people to be exact on that day
let the sweat be the honor of your work to the devil
let your wrinkles be the prize of that deed
let your creaky and barren home be the result of your selfishness and obliviousness
you don't care, you never cared
let your Blood Diamonds be the new pandemic of the sorrow, sullen, world.