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Oculi Nov 2017
It's the return of the gangsta, thanks ta
Them bustas that thinkin' they real trouble
Them ******* that tellin' me I'm but a bubble
I'm the real **** ******* don't point at me
I'm everything you and your buddies wanted to be
It's the return of the real G, ***** *****
I could straight up ****** you without the beat
I'm nothing like any of you think, I'm the danger
All you be seeing in my is just some ******* stranger
Lemme acquaint you with the las thing you'll see before you fall
******* thinking they're cool

They be thinking I'm a ******* busta
All they be seeing is I ain't a hustla
I ain't nothing but doom to you, lil *****
I ain't the one who be seeing the dirt in the ditch

I ain't Brown or André, I ain't no name in this *****
But it's still the return of the gangsta
Out here to kick yo *** back to when you had a masta'

It ain't happenin' again, ain't nothan'
No bebop ****, no big hood thangs
Just realize you outta line
Cause you ain't got a ******' dime
Bite my dolla', *****
A spiritual successor to two songs:
Outkast - The Return of the "G"
Danny Brown ft. Freddie Gibbs - The Return of Danny Brown
So yeah, it's pretty much rap.
Oculi Nov 2017
Dedicated upon a precipice
Like Perseus I'm merciless
Like Sisyphus I make a fuss
Like Helios I'm at a loss
I lose myself like Odysseus
And compare myself just like Janus
Like Hephaestus I'm a smith
But I make only my destiny
The rest is all useless to me
In life I'm like Callypse
Kalopsia, the mind's eclipse
But most of all I am the Lord's
Brother, who's thrown at the swords
Hades of the underworld
For I am all but of this world
Seeing Earth as lifeless mounds
Of dead, I throw myself to hounds
HerrAichach Dec 2016
Breaking out with my faults
I can't handle becoming an adult,
My scars are open
My life is determined by someone else' pen

There is no recovery from suicide
There is no place to hide.
I know that I've lived and fought
But what happens when you're a neet who takes bottles in one draught

When you give yourself less but everyone else so much more
Man life ***** when you're poor,
I hate the meds because it makes me feel weak, reliant and unhappy
Shoutout to Dappy.

I almost met my fate yesterday, oh what a feeling of ecstasy.
It almost seemed like a fantasy,
It isn't about the lie, it is how the truth is denied
It isn't about life, it is how you've lived with a knife.
Make comments if you can relate or just wish to comment.
Ghost Town in my ears
Cleansing my soul like it's suicide season
I hope to feel the sun once again,
this moment in time.
I see dead things.
I see the world spinning making me nauseous.
The constant whispers drive me insane.
My youth story is beginning to come to an end
my eyes opening at the sight of fear,
the smell of lust,
and the pain of shame.
This haunting will never end,
the twist and turns levitate me up
like an angel rising to the sky.
This knife you placed in my back,
makes me feel like all there is to say is:
Football season is over.
You expect me to fall to your will,
when my allegiance is to the demon who holds me down,
and through the thick smoke
I ask
"Can you feel my heart"
And the only thing you reply with is:
"You're so creepy"
So as I stare at the black moon,
waiting to be taken to the
hospital for souls,
I sit here,
chanting
*"I am the Haunted Youth"
Shoutout to two of my favorite bands which inspired me to write this one
Julie Langlais Feb 2016
On the sidelines here I stand
cheering you on,
your number one fan
Watching you, I inspire
While you play this game, I so admire

© Jl 2016
Cody Haag Jan 2016
Abscond from your digital world,
Fall into the rhythm offered by Mother Earth;
Bathe in the glory apparent before you,
Endeavor to obtain a new birth.

To think one is living,
One must go through the motions;
To know one is living,
One must see the valleys, forests, and oceans.

A man spends days inside his home,
Completely and utterly alone;
Sometimes he delivers messages
Or uses his telephone.

Yet even then he is so integrated;
So controlled by technology.
Thoreau thought no man could live such a life,
And still be considered free.

"We do not ride on the railroad;
It rides upon us - "
These words from Thoreau
We need to wholly trust.

The creator is often imprisoned
By the creations he has birthed;
I think a life so wasted
Has very little worth.
heather leather Dec 2015
real; the unscabbed scars on my knuckles and arms remind
me of rough trees and the grimy surface of soil stomped
on, you compare them to wildflowers but i know that this is
only because you are the type of person to enter a restaurant
with a sign that reads caution and order something anyway,
simply because you are too nice and hate to think of businesses
shutting down and of people failing, maybe this is why
you love me, i still have not figured it out yet

real; walking into school makes me feel like a deflated balloon
and everyone that says hello to me is blowing me up
again with methane i am slowly becoming too big to be tied
down with a ribbon called responsibility and fear,
the anxiety that enters my mind when i am forced to stand in
front of strangers with judgemental eyes and fake smiles
becomes mind numbingly painful and it makes me question
whether or not i am still alive. i still have not figured out
why i am yet.

real; your smile lights up the lights on the lamposts by the
train station where we met it transforms phantoms into people
paper planes into reality and nightmares into dreams
your touch leaves nothing but good intentions and blissful hope
and it leaves my cold unbeating heart yearning for warmth. i
still have not figured out if i like it or not.

not real; you love me. you kiss my wrist because you care
about me not what i went through. you love talking to me, you
wonder about how stars could ever die because you
think i am a walking sun. you keep your promises and tell me that
you care every night. i'm a good person. i have aspirations.
those pills on my bedside are not mine. the mirror is shaking.
i never meant to hurt myself. i'm sorry for all the things i've done.
i have potential to be better. i am beautiful.
not real not real not ******* real

(h.l.)
thoughts?
Alan S Bailey Oct 2015
She hangs upon the ladder, looking out on all of her glorious creations,
This sun that beats down upon her, she cringes at the pain of it,
Stinging sweat slides all along the sides of her face of newborn nation
Grand things she has promised, although she would build a monument
To honour the dead who fought valiantly to protect their land,
Their new found supposed right to enslave.
And also don't forget their brave new world of uneducated
******, all-in-the family goodness, "un-needed" liberation of
Innocent blacks. Those unlawful ne'er do wells! She would fight
To keep them all to herself and her bidding, even to the grave!

*While in truth they have not committed any absolute crimes,
Like their ancestors-nor any reason why they are doing hard time.
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