Jay-Z.
5C.
Poetry.
Listen to Me.
It’s only a Dream.
On.

Brooklyn’s hometown brother
Raised by his single mother
Many said he didn’t stand a chance
Dealing crack *******
Doing the gang dance

Roc-A-Fella
Top Seller
Rapping acapella
Crafty story teller

Reaching for interstellar heights
Under the bright, bright lights
No longer in the darkness of night
Affecting crowds with great delight

He is in everyone’s favour
A pop culture icon and a savior
He had certainly been put to the test
Now living a life of great success
He has triumphed, He has been blessed
He stands proud and tall above all the rest

Lichtenstein crashed into Monet's garden under the mistaken impression that a pulse of pop would compliment the oil on water, but instead his WHAAM missed its target and his POW wept hot, bleaching the aqua white with noise and ripping the lilies to shreds.
'Oh, Claude,' he cried, 'it's a masterpiece!'

When we both declared dehydrated
you gave us in an instant
your last radiator warmed Sprite;
oh how like you
to quench,
and share,
and be bright.

And as effortlessly as that,
You had me cracked
You chipped away at my cold exterior
Dodging shards of ice until I was no longer hard
My frozen heart exposed to the warmth of your hands slowly melting away with the steady breeze of your breath
Incapsulated in the prison of your knuckles
Only for you to drop my heart in search of another
Another that’s slightly warmer
Slightly more hospitable
And slightly more lovable than I am.
I guess my coldness could freeze everything, except your love for me.

In a minute,
I'm a *** smirk.
A shiny fang to show.
This pleasure, bundled
into nerves,
will decompose.

There isn't one chance.
Not one savior.
Evolution,
it still takes
its molasses-sweet-***-time.

I won't pray.
I won't wait.
As I am
& I shall be
the anti-divine.

I'm a literal *******.
I've long since comes to terms,
to terms with it.
I'm a depiction of the pits.
I've long since loved my worst,
my worst and best.

(...)

In a minute,
I'm a lost eye.
A stab wound, deep & old.
This sadness, bound
in my synapses,
wants me to know:

There is no escape.
No dissuasion.
Neurodivergence,
it wrestles
my ill logos for control.

I won't pray.
I won't pray.
As I am
& I shall be
funny chemicals.

I'm a literal *******.
I've long since comes to terms,
to terms with it.
I'm a depiction of the pits.
I've long since loved my worst,
my worst and best.

................. maybe....................   
I'm                                    out
       but   you   popped
                  into my
                     heart.

Hamilton tickets...
Body parts you don't need?
I can sell an arm...