Hitting you up side the head,
concussion from my lyrical spread.
You got cerebral haemorrhaging as
my words hit you with a even spread.
Your ears are bleeding,
dry mouth as nothing said.
My words drip from your ears
enough you said.
But im not the one taking
weak **** shoots.
You tried an failed,
now your get syllable assaulted.
But no prosecution,
cos the only
witness is incoherent mumbling.
If you come at me again,
better get those words sharpened,
cos they need to get past
As they blunt at the moment.
My words are a razor cutting your throat,
you'll bleed out but, ill smother your
On bottom of my shoe.
As i throat choke you,
listen to that...
Its the silence of you,
And I looked at my watch,
your the last second past,
uninteresting and not worth remembering.
Purple and blue the sharpener
Was absolutely stunning.
Two holes, one for pencils and the other
For desperate child fingers.
At seven I didn’t know the consequences
of shoving my finger against that blade.
How could I have known that one
Sharp deep cut on my finger would
Entrap me in a world of self pain.
That, that day would continue over and
Over again for the next ten years.
A constant cycle of seeking solace from
Different types of metals.
On a quest for worth, in depthness of,
Not ones soul, but of superficial lines.
A mastered game of hide-and-carve
Deceitfully covering a plea for help.
she whispered to me
while bodies lay asleep
under the cool crumbly dirt
"I sharpened my knife
especially for your back.
I hope you appreciate it,
— The End —