One idea,
To a thousand thoughts.
Some prove true,
Others are false.
Cruel or kind?
Nobody can tell.
Not even I,
The creator of this shell.
For my own,
Are unknown,
They choose,
They decide.
Leaving a complexity
In our evergrowing mind.

I don’t deserve someone who keeps leaving,
I deserve someone who stays.


- Eventually I will learn that

My thoughts.
So dark
They can’t be sought.

Little whispers
Cloud my head.
Triggers straight to my head.

Encrypting
Their teachings
Into my mind.

And I,
Now fallen,

Subjected to lies.

I write sometimes li̲ke I'm out for
blood (I kind of have been & am)
like vampires; tha[ɑ]t's for
all the injustice & violence absorbed
[video games, films, (& later) rap & politics-related stuff]
from this unjust & f#cked world
you may think I'm a kettle boiling, 'cause
writing rhymed texts & going hos—
—tile in 'em is a way to blow steam off
besI̲des that, I'm bored
like a plank that I̲ would, o[ʌ]f course
["board"]
not mind to wa[ɑ]tch a dumb war—
—mongering, power-drunk ****
walk off into the waters galore of hungry cro[ɑ]cs or
sharks, though I̲ would o[ɑ]pt for something much worse
if punishing power-corrupted schmucks were
up to mO̲I̲ with my warped
mind; like a drama queen, or a jihadist fiend
at a public spot with **̲[ɑ]stile in—
—tentions & a bomb, or a gun on him
I'd make such a scene
["sin"]
one tor—mentors would love to observe
one worth grabbing some ****** po[ɑ]pcorn
[like the one portrayed in "punishment of an autocrat"]
****** alert; the villainous fiend
inside wants to join this lyrical binge
give 'em *******, dude
————————————————————————————————
listen U̲p, you da[ɛ]mn fool
this message is also for the trap rap playschool
that you pU̲nk pertain to
consider yourself LIA 'cA̲U̲se you're plain doomed
[lost in action]
like an aircrA̲ft which is about
to crA̲sh into the ground (plane, doomed)
call thI̲s sh#t maltreatment
'cause, like a wicked professor prone
to domineering, I'ma teach you a lesson, ***
["molltreatment"]
'cause in this lyric-writing game, you
are just a lame stewd'
[stu(ew)dent]
you better find some da[ɛ]mn tools
the screws of mine are cray loose
just like Deadpool's; memorize this name to
call me by: Slay Illsome
[Deadpool's real name is Wade Wilson]
you're like pup: so ****** tame you
should be called Lame Chillsome
["po[ɑ]p", in the sense of "pop music"]
so inept that holding somebO̲[ɑ]dy's dra[ɛ]nk, you'd
prob'ly wind up with the dra[ɛ]nk spilled, chump
I'm an instiller of awe & distaste
a thrill killer, nuts, A̲lthough well-trained
and I really love to slay noobs
I'll be enjoying some thrilling, high-octane tunes
while you'll be stricken by the grave blues
'cause I'll have you feeling such a pain you
are gon' wish it were Max 'stead of me & start to pray to
["Payne"; Max Payne, who mostly just guns down his targets]
me to put you down like I̲'m the type slinging
off at others; I'll I̲ce you by swinging
my mo'f#cking blade through
your neck like a batter, whereA̲fter I[ɑ]'ll pick
up your nut & make use
of it as a **** bA̲sketball, *****
I'll chop you in parts, then bo[ɑ]x 'em, like a way to
verbally tag an attrA̲ctive gal with
a set of plumply-shaped *****
["buxom"]
I'll have the box wrapped a la gifts
and then get the remainders of you sE̲nt ta
a replantation-focused center
(so much for something with the littlest of spite...)
————————————————————————————————
like a substance a[ɑ]ddict
tryna quit but quickly sliding ba[ɑ]ckwards
one verse & I'm back to mY̲ bad ha[ɑ]bits
[the prelude]
of writing; life-lethargic, bU̲t this art form
is something I sure have go[ɑ]t a lust for
nail rhyming as if rhymes were lush girls
do this kind of stuff for
fun & to maintain these mI̲nd skills I scored
["slay just to maintain some relish & killing skills"]
which explains why I dub it "bar sport"
[sport/fun of making bars (rhymed lines)]
you trap rap hacks ou[ɑ]ght to ha[ɑ]ve your
bars shA̲rp just like swords of samurais, for
as I̲'ve said afore, I'm O̲U̲t for blood, twerps
————————————————————————————————
struck this "bar sport" writing up short
["bar sport (prelude)" followed by this one]
on hope, wound up with a flood of thou[ɑ]ghts versed (wow)
guess this writer's inner fire's no[ɑ]t burned... out
like someone dO̲ne too much work

keep going back to cool stuff I once made &
rereading it applying some changes
to certain ones at times; it's frustrating
that, after the latest rhyme piece written
I have created nothing decent
and am kind of wasting time on thI̲s one
where are those several lines
after penning which I, eventually, wi[aɪ]nd
up having devised a barful sheet?
how & what the hell to indite?
go, like an overnight lodge, **̲[ɑ]stile? ge[ɪ]t
["hostel"]
a mo[ɑ]p & fire lead
at poor lyricists or strike auto[ɑ]cracies
and agents of this kind of po[ɑ]litics
with spite like prior sh#t
of mine? something like the stuff in which
much of bo[ɑ]dy harm's received
by the unrighteous targets picked?
going that way reminds me of the knight of Go[ɑ]tham with
that armored co[ɑ]stume pU̲t on
[the Batman in armored suit from the "Dawn Of Justice" film]
like that warmonge[—]ring nuisance (it's all the West!)
'cause that kind of stuff's the stro[ɑ]ngest suit &
it's somewhat dark as well
but it's O̲[ʌ]f no help to the psycholo[ɑ]gic health
change the cu[ʌ]rrent bell
[style; the "change one's tune" expression]
on something which has no[ɑ]t a knell-
-like vibe to it? how in the *******?
have to be afflicted by a spell
or something to have the lyric-writing shelf
o[ʌ]f mine supplied with stuff like
that; in fact, there's one which is kind of well
in terms of the least of violence dealt
and having the least of toxic vibe as well
it's that night fun tale
["a night out rhyme tale"]
write something personal?
not like some ****** flick
but that's horrible
'cause I am pro[ɑ]bably go[ʌ]nna wI̲[aɪ]nd up with
something writ as if by a whining b#tch (again)
with all that versified, it seems
it may be better, like a nau[ɑ]ghty chick
with a zoomorphic co[ɑ]stume kink
to opt for a tale of some kind (tail)
something with the littlest o[ʌ]f spite
and sans an in-the-dumps vibe
still, it's easier to just go a[ɑ]dverse
whether I target authO̲r—
—itarianism or chU̲mps who've go[ɑ]t poor
bars, instead of tryna cO̲me up with
sO̲mething else, which is whY̲ it feels
like a comfO̲rt... zone
(a writer's comfort zone)